


Keeping Up Appearances

by irislim



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Romance, Undercover, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 21:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6256234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd always loved going undercover, but not as a lovestruck housemate. And it sure doesn't help that there just might be some real feelings buried underneath this whole charade. Yet another post-series, no-movie AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vanessa Mason

_Because somehow - out of half a dozen agents who'd decided to proceed without permission - I'm supposed to be the 'best candidate' for this form of torture._

Veronica glared at the new ID in her hand. Hair freshly cut and with next to no make-up, the latest picture on the shiny new card did look different enough at a glance.

She sighed.

At least Vanessa Mason wouldn't have as many bad hair days as Veronica Mars.

Irrationally angry at the bland pastel shades around her, she shoved herself on to the rustic sofa with a blatant grumble. Her right hand lifted involuntarily to finger through the short strands at the nape of her neck. She hadn't had hair this short since that purging haircut after Lilly died. Veronica closed her eyes for a second. That rough cut a decade ago had given her a brand new outlook on life.

And as much as she's like to deny it, this haircut was supposed to do the same.

_But why me?_

Veronica tilted her head as her eyes danced all over the ID once more. Lieutenant Stanley had insisted that with no surviving family members in touch, she truly was the best candidate. And since he had been the closest thing she'd had to a father figure ever since Keith's fatal accident, she had begrudgingly agreed.

Not that she wasn't regretting it now - full throttle.

A single vibrate next to her thigh had her looking down to her phone.

_Man, I'm gonna miss pockets._

Apparently, throwing away all her signature leather in exchange for A-line dresses had been part of the job description.

She pressed her thumb against the power button.

"Agent Mars."

"Yeah?" She didn't bother pushing herself upright.

"I trust all is well?"

She scoffed, free hand poking holes in the couch's polyester blend with the corner of her ID. "If by well you mean bored to tears."

"Agent Mars - "

"I thought I'm not supposed to go by that name anymore?" She challenged, shamelessly grumpy.

"Yes, you are right - Miss Mason."

She wanted to throw her phone against the wall. But then that would leave a dent on the wallpaper.

"We thank you for taking this assignment, madame."

She scoffed again at the insincerity attacking her ears. "Marshall Clark, let's just all agree to stop pretending. Heaven knows how happy you are to lord it over a decorated federal agent."

"Miss Mason, I would caution you to refer to me only as Garrett hereonafter. It would not do - "

"To risk security, blah blah blah." She couldn't help it now. "Because I'm sure when it comes to facing actual danger,  _you're_ supposed to be more experienced, huh?"

The line stayed silent for a moment.

"Miss Mason, as your handler, it's my responsibility to make sure you are safe. You must know that."

The sad thing is - she did.

Veronica sighed. She closed her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine and dandy, okay? I graduated top of the class in Quantico just so I could help entitled mafia spawn transition into witness protection. It's a dream job."

"We need you, Agent - Miss Mason. Shadowing a new entrant is not a simple task."

_Because we'd both rather pretend that this farce isn't punishment for acting without permission - again._

Veronica sighed. Not everyone could be as forgiving as Neptune. She'd just have to re-prove her worth.

"Yes, Marshall - I mean, Garrett. I'll do my best."

"That's great. Mr. Erickson is set to arrive within the hour. Do be ready."

"Yes, sir."

"Take care."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, sir."

She didn't bother to wait for him to hang up - protocol be damned. In her book, insincerity was a criminal offense.

Because if there's anything Veronica hated more than cheating husbands, it was cheaters who had mastered the loving husband charade.

_You do wrong, you own up to it._

And get punished for it, apparently.

For the next ten minutes, she stared blankly at the beige wallpaper, its tiny purple flowers long faded. Slumping on a worn, floral sofa on a late summer afternoon - how did she come to this?

Her eyes almost misted at the recollection of meeting Lieutenant Stanley the first time. He had singled her out in the crowd, pointed out her potential amongst the new recruits - calling her the bureau's next big star. She had barely recovered from her father's death then. And upon knowing the middle-aged lieutenant's first name to also be Keith, the two had instantly bonded.

"You're a chameleon, Veronica," he had said her first year. "You take on new identities more fully in two seconds than some agents do in years. You're perfect for the undercover world."

She almost sniffed.

He had named her the next big thing. She had rewarded those high hopes by botching protocol and getting herself assigned to this aging doll house suburb.

_Not my type of undercover._

She reached under her skirt to scratch her thigh. Those tulle linings were no joke.

Besides, what else did she have to do? Vanessa Mason was supposed to be a wide-eyed college graduate who had only ever wanted to get married. Now,  _that's_ a stranger to adrenaline.

Responding to her grumbling stomach, she dragged herself to the kitchen: the only room in the house she hadn't complained about yet. Call them old fashioned - those kitchen work triangles did make lasagna prep ten times easier.

Happy for the familiarity of the activity, Veronica busied herself with dinner, only looking out again when the sky dimmed.

For a split second, she stilled. She glanced at her watch.

_But Clark had said 'within the hour.'_

The change in circumstances had her senses cranked up to ten. When the front door swung open, she gripped her knife tighter.

It wasn't a gun. But in the hands of the right person, it could sure as hell be just as deadly.

The sound of two hesitant footsteps met the squeaking wooden floor. Veronica inhaled, tightened her grip, and inched towards the front of the house.

"Hello?" The male voice sounded too young for the man in her file.

Her mind catalogued information while her feet slid her effortlessly forward in a silent gait.

_Gender: Male, Age: 27, Height: 6'0", Alias: Luke Erickson, Role: boyfriend_

As usual, the file had included no pictures, lest it fell into the wrong hands.

She had expected multiple possibilities: a pampered mafia heir, a gangly drug addict, a sweaty reporter who had dug too deep.

The knife hit the floor with a loud clang next to her kitten heel pumps.

She must be rusty - very rusty.

Because somehow, she magically managed to never have remotely expected -  _him._

And if the wide eyes that met hers over the brunette goatee, the slack jaw, and the open hands were any indication, he was just as surprised as she.

_Luke Erickson - but, of course._

But as always, he recovered first.

"Well, hello,  _Bobcat_."

And she wanted to smack the grin right off his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know nothing whatsoever about the witness protection program except for any conjectures I make based upon online descriptions. All protocol is of my own imagination.
> 
> A/N: Lots of thanks to irma66 for being a devoted beta and friend. I'm a little iffy about this story. It feels both right and not right at the same time. Should I continue? Do let me know :)


	2. Luke Erickson

"Well, _hello._ " Her reply, firm and sharp, sounded far more antagonistic than welcome.

He inhaled, bracing himself inwardly while maintaining his outward grin.

_Can't let her think I've lost my cool, can I?_

"And here I was thinking that the system was supposed to place me with people I _didn't_ know." He winked as he sauntered over, hands in pockets. "Not ones I've known - in more ways than one."

He knew for a fact that she wanted to slap him.

But somehow, she didn't.

He quirked his brows at her haughty ones. "Lost your sense of humor, Miss - uhm, Mason?"

"Maybe," she finally spoke again, eyes icy, "because I don't think pranks involving my superiors are funny, Logan."

"Luke, madame," he corrected. "And what makes you think this is a prank?"

"Why would the venerable Logan Echolls be in witness protection?"

"Because he gave his testimony against Liam Fitzpatrick," he grunted, displeased.

She stared at him wide-eyed.

_Well, that shut her up._

He let the surprise sink in for a moment, waiting until she released a very long sigh.

"Well?" He ventured.

"What did you know about them?"

"They were blackmailing Trina."

"So she's also in - "

"Nope, couldn't 'give up her heritage.'"

"Okay, but what happens to the real Logan Echolls?"

"Fled to Eastern Europe, apparently."

"And that's why you're here as - "

"Luke Erickson," he stated matter-of-factly. He cocked his head. "Has a ring to it, don't you think?"

He could see the realization dawning on her face.

"So I'm supposed to be protecting - you?"

He shrugged. "Not that I know of. They told me I'd be assigned with another girl to ease into the program together. Made sense to me."

He looked her straight in the eye. "Unless this is _your_ trick to meet me again?"

"Ha," she scoffed, eyes suddenly darting everywhere. "Like I would need an elaborate scheme to track you down."

"Nope," he replied. He leaned as close as possible without touching her. "But maybe you needed a reason to  _keep_ me around."

The fiery glare she shot him was interrupted by the sound of a loud doorbell.

They both perked up and faced the door. Logan passed her a wary glance, found her still coping with the situation, and proceeded towards the entrance at her nod. He pulled the front door open.

He frowned.

_They're gonna send us grandma agents?_

"Hi!" The woman, plump and crowned with grey hair, greeted him cheerfully. She lifted the plate of cookies in her hands. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Hi," he responded, still frowning. "My name is Luke. And you are - "

"Oh, just call me Mrs. Browning, sweetie. I live three houses down. Saw you and your, uhm, wife settling in today. Just wanted to welcome you with a plate of warm cookies. Young women don't always know their way around a kitchen, you know." Her accent and deportment were verifiable textbook grandma.

_Well, my young woman does._

He hesitated at choosing a course of action. Getting to know the neighbors would help their goal of blending in. But the more people saw him - the more likely they'd recognize him from the tabloids.

_Guess I do have to look into plastic surgery sometime._

"Honey, who is it?" Veronica's voice hit him from the back.

And suddenly, recognizing the priceless opportunity at hand, he broke into a wide grin.

"Thank you, Mrs. Browning," he replied politely, taking the plate of cookies off her hands. "My girlfriend and I thank you so much for your warm welcome."

He shifted backwards as he spoke, then he used an arm to pull Veronica forward until she stood next to him.

"Mrs. Browning, this is Vanessa."

Veronica nodded in acknowledgment at the introduction, fake smile perfectly installed.

_She seems cooperative enough._

"And Vanessa, this is - "

"Why isn't she lovely!" The old lady exclaimed, grabbing Veronica by the wrists. "I thought I saw a pretty woman through the window earlier today. I can't believe it! Where are you all from? How long have you been married? I can't believe this neighborhood is finally getting some young blood. The people - "

"Mrs. Browning," Logan interrupted. He reached over to take Veronica's hands away from hers and into his, the cookies safely resting on the ledge beside the door. "My _girlfriend_ and I are rather tired from all the moving today. Perhaps we could get more acquainted next time? Vanessa and I were looking forward to some quiet time _alone_ tonight."

Veronica shot him a 'we are?' look. He ignored it.

"Time _alone_?" The old woman continued. "But sir, given that you're only dating, it would be rather inappropriate to."

And Logan promptly shocked both women by pulling Veronica into his arms and crashing his lips on to hers.

She stilled for a second, but he held firm.

And probably from a lack of choice, she kissed him back. He smiled, kissed her for another few seconds, and released her.

_If looks could kill..._

He grinned sheepishly at her before turning to face a highly mortified Mrs. Browning. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I am simply so taken by my girlfriend that I - "

"Right, right." The lady finally found her tongue. "I will - get going."

She scurried off without another word.

_Ouch!_

He felt a pinch on his side that hurt so much it must have left a mark.

In his peripheral vision, Veronica stormed into the house and up the stairs.

* * *

The meaty smell of a well-done lasagna wafted luxuriously to the landing. Her fingers hugged the wooden bannister with stubborn resolution. She closed her eyes, decisively denying how watery they were growing.

_Why did I have to cook that?_

It wasn't hard to deduce what Logan had done after her dramatic exit two hours ago. It's not exactly difficult to put a tray into the oven. She knew it wasn't his fault. He had tried to get her attention, but she had been the one hiding resolutely behind the bedroom door. After an hour of unanswered apologies through a locked door, what else was a hungry guy supposed to do but cook dinner?

She bit her lip.

_He doesn't know, Veronica._

She gulped - her teeth marking her bottom lip and her eyes letting loose a couple of tears.

_He doesn't know._

He didn't know how much of a significance homemade lasagna had become over the past two years. He didn't know it was the last meal she had shared with her father. He didn't know how she had always made it in his honor, how she would -

She gasped as the tears finally refused to keep dammed away. She brought her hands to her mouth, her hands vainly suppressing the sobs as the tears drowned her cheeks. She closed her eyes as she backed away from the bannister to lean against the wall. She threw the back of her head against the firm surface.

They say time would heal.

But she had a feeling it never would.

"Veronica?"

She lowered herself to sit on the landing. She blinked.

_Can't let him see me like -_

"Veronica?"

His voice was closer. Its warmth matching the whiffs of lasagna with surprising accord.

She faced away from his approach. Every limb wanted to run, but every breath forced her to stay.

_Get it together, Veronica!_

She could kill herself when a sob escaped. She bit her knuckles, fingers fisted.

It wasn't the first time she'd missed her father. But somehow, this intensity hadn't occurred in a very, very long time.

She felt Logan kneel down behind her, and she shifted out of reach.

Because after running away for years from anything that remotely reminded her of Neptune - here was Logan Echolls in the flesh. And suddenly, there's no place like home.

* * *

He lifted his hand, and he dropped it. Then he lifted it again, hovering it awkwardly in the vicinity of her shoulder, before he put it down again.

Because after his idiotic move that afternoon, had he any reason to expect she would give him the time of day?

Logan breathed in.

Finding Veronica just when he had resigned himself to lifelong isolation had been a surprise.

_Who am I kidding? A huge surprise._

But it had been the most glorious light at the end of a tunnel.

"Veronica?" He tried to get her attention again, his heart clenching at her sorrow. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?"

She kept sobbing. He sighed.

After making sure his testimony had kept Trina's aggressors locked away, he'd accepted his lot in life. He would leave behind the glitz and glamor, locking his trust funds into a secret federal account. He'd ease into the program with his assigned partner and they would break up as planned. Then he would lead a small existence at some unknown town, never being Logan Echolls ever again.

Until his very heart-blood showed up in his new home.

He refocused on Veronica's shaking form, somewhat relieved that her earlier sobs had been replaced by the occasion sniff.

"Vee?"

Surprising him yet again, she turn slowly to face him, opened her arms, and launched herself into his chest - all in one motion.

_This is real, this is real._

He fought the urge to kiss her forehead. Wordlessly, he pulled her closer.

"I'm sorry, Veronica, I - " he spoke in spurts, "I shouldn't have done that - I thought I was having fun - but it's stupid - it's really stupid - and I - "

She shushed him with a squeeze, and his lungs emptied entirely.

_Definitely been training as an agent._

He hesitated before speaking again. "Uhm, Veronica?"

"Dad," came her muffled reply.

"Dad?" Logan blinked. His head spun.

_Hadn't he heard that Keith -_

His eyes grew a tad misty at the realization. "Did I say something to remind you, Vee? I'm sorry - I didn't know. Was it - "

"Luzun," she mumbled into his apron.

He frowned and nudged her gently to see her face. "Luzun?"

"Lazza - Lasagna," she made out at last, sad eyes posed two inches from his.

He took in her gaze, thoughts racing in double-time analysis. He used his hands to brace her neck. "It reminds you of him."

She nods, vulnerability fast disappearing.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She shrugged and looked away, but her face stayed between his fingers.

" _I_ made it," she muttered helplessly.

_Never interrupt a Veronica-Mars-being-reasonable moment._

He nodded. "Does lasagna - does it always - "

She answered by shaking her head. "Just today."

"Oh."

They exchanged glances silently for another two seconds before she came to her senses and shrunk away. He lowered his hands accordingly.

"So, uhm - was I the reason?" He continued the previous conversation.

She looked down at her hands quietly at first, but looked right back with a smirk. "You always think it's about you, don't you?"

Defensive rushed over. "No, no - of course not. I just mean that - if I'm causing you discomfort in any way - "

_Like I obviously did this afternoon._

He sighed. This was hard. "If that's the case - then I'll ask for a transfer, okay? I don't want to be the reason you're having a hard time. I mean it."

He looked her straight in the eye.

She looked back.

Then she gave a sad smile.

He patiently waited.

"How about this," she said, voice finally even, "This whole WITSEC thing - it's not fun, and it's not first choice for anybody."

She paused. He waited some more.

"So I dunno - " She shrugged at him, eyes everywhere. "If the two of us could work together and, like, act normal. Maybe we - maybe we could treat it like a fresh start?"

The guarded hope in her eyes meant everything.

"As long as everybody keeps their hands - and lips - off of everybody else," she added dryly.

He had to stifle a chuckle.

"Yes, of course. I - I really am sorry about that."

She lowered her lashes in quiet response.

"So - fresh start?" He just had to confirm.

She looked up, and with a hint of a smile, gave a small nod.

"So, Vanessa Mason." He pushed himself to his feet, voice and confidence restored. "Lasagna's in the kitchen. You in?"

And, of course, she never said no to food.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the first chapter support! I hope the rest of the story does not disappoint. Sorry for the angst in this chapter. They needed to get on the same page before they can move forward :)
> 
> I promise I am working on Teachers Lounge. It's just that those chapters are way, way, way longer than these. Thanks always to my faithful beta irma66. She tolerates my writing in all their shapes and forms, hehe :) I hope you liked this chapter!


	3. Andrew Warbler

She rubbed her eyes, still forcing them awake, as she dropped down the stairs at a syncopated rhythm.

_Right foot, left foot. Stand. Right foot, left foot, left foot. Stand._

She scoffed at herself upon reaching the landing. Who knew it could be this hard to work _with_ gravity?

She broke into a stretch and a yawn. She'd slunk upstairs right after dinner last night, taking the master bedroom and immediately locking the door. But for all the early retreating, she hadn't been able to sleep a wink until 2 a.m.

_Then I passed out like drug addict._

She sighed, stifling another yawn. Apparently, a belly full of lasagna equals deep sleep. The sleep was so deep, in fact, that she'd managed to sleep in.

She giggled a little. The last time she'd slept past 6 a.m. was in faraway college - before the bureau, before Lieutenant Stanley, before Marshal Clark, before -

_Bacon?_

Her eyes popped open at the scent. She inhaled a generous amount of bacon-flavored air. Her mouth watered.

_I'm no better than Pavlov's dog._

But who's cooking -

_Oh._

Somewhere along her night of comatose-level slumber, she'd convinced herself yesterday hadn't happened.

She gripped the sides of her pink nightshirt. Glancing over the railing, her eyes darted over the living area in all its worn-out suburban splendor. Even the dull wallpaper agreed with the fact.

_It totally happened._

She sighed again, this time including her shoulders in a heavy heave. She had to hand it to Clark. There's no better place to hide a former 09er than a outlying suburb lost in time. When people looked for Logan Echolls, they wanted spark and glitter - not normalcy. She had to admit, that had been a good move.

_But dropping him off with his toxic ex-girlfriend?_

She smirked. It had taken a while to admit that to herself. She didn't like taking any sort of blame, after all. But after destroying Piz and the three clones that followed him - none of which lasted more than a month - she had to acknowledge that statistics pointed to her as the unhealthy one.

And that's when she chose to wear it with pride.

_Veronica Mars - not your average girlfriend._

Her self-satisfaction lasted only a handful of seconds before her current predicament sunk in.

She groaned. Why did Vanessa Mason have to be all wholesome and stuff? Contrary to popular belief, long-term adaptation of a different identity was more tedious than fun.

"Hey," a male voice interrupted her thoughts.

She looked up, then down, to see Logan at the foot of the stairs. His fresh face indicated better sleep than she had last night.

"Want some breakfast?"

And the utterly normal way he said that made her break into a smile.

* * *

"Guess what, pumpkin? We've got mail." He opened his fingers until the letter dropped on the wooden table. "Any ideas what it could be?"

Her eyes jumped from her plate to the envelope instantly; her hands snatched it over as quickly as an amphibian with its prey.

"It's from the government."

"Ah, and here I though Pamela Anderson had finally come around to chasing me back."

She looked at him pointedly. He shrugged.

"In America, any normal household would receive mail. This is just a step to making things appear realistic," she explained, voice level and utterly practical.

_That makes sense, actually._

Her fingers ran over each part of the letter, seemingly to check its authenticity. He watched as she pried it open.

Her eyes ran over the text, rolled up towards the ceiling, and dropped back to the table along with the letter. He raised an inquisitive brow.

"Guess who's been deemed qualified to work at a convenience store?" Her voice dripped pure irritation.

He grabbed the seat opposite her. "Huh, so they pick up out our jobs for us too?"

"Yeap," Veronica snapped. She crossed her arms. "It's not like they control all the other aspects of our life already."

_Well, someone sounds bitter._

"I thought we were expected to earn our own keep?"

"We are. And finding that first job for us is their way of making sure we do."

"And I thought _I_ was the spoiled one." He leaned back against chair's tall support. "Is Sack 'n Pack really that bad?"

"It's very visible," she replied right back.

_Visible? Oh right - the whole secret identity thing._

He almost laughed at himself.

_Who forgets about WITSEC one day into the assignment?_

He looked up at her, blue eyes afire and pink lips glistening. Her short blonde hair bristled against her neck in a ridiculously captivating sweep as she stretched her neck from side to side.

_Who forgets? Well, someone who's just run into his favorite ex-girlfriend, that's who._

He sighed audibly. "Well, there's always that WITSEC subsistence thing. You could try the job for a day and say you don't like it."

"Subsistence - " she half-laughed and half-scoffed. "Logan Echolls - living on sixty grand a year. I'll see it when I believe it."

_Well, ouch._

"Maybe he can't." He shrugged, a tad offended. "But what do I know of about the lives of the rich and famous? I'm just little ol' Luke, living off my daily allowance."

"You were burning through three thousand a week as a teenager. And you're telling me you could live off even less as an adult?"

"Ah, finally, she calls me grown up."

"Oh, you've been grown up for a while - on the outside."

"In some places more than others."

She opened her mouth as if to reply - and surprised him instead with a wordless blush.

_Well, what do you know, I still got it._

That thought made him grin.

"So, Miss Mason," he spoke theatrically as he swung up to his feet, "ready for our job hunting excursion?"

"It's not called hunting if the job's guaranteed, Logan."

"And that's where you're mistaken." He walked to the arch separating the dining area from the living room and leaned against its side. "The name's Luke, sugar."

He couldn't help feeling excited when she finally stood up with an exasperated smile.

* * *

"Look, pretty boy, you ain't gonna survive 'ere without gainin' some muscle, alright?" The manager-owner flexed his burly arm demonstratively. "This ain't no job for a fairy."

"I can hold my own plenty - sir," Logan responded - groaned, almost. "Got some stuff to lift around here?"

The older man, big and brown, grinned and extended a hand. "Bradley Jones, owner and all-around man-in-charge. Sorry to hear about y'all's turn of events. Bin doin' this for a couple o' years an' still not gettin' used to seeing new folks all the tam."

Logan shrugged, shaking the older man's hand. "It's alright. It's a fresh name, fresh start kind of thing - you know."

"That's ma boy." Bradley punched his new employee in the shoulder, teeth sparkling. "Saw y'all walkin' over together this mornin'. That pretty gal ya wife?"

 _I wish_.

"Fiancée," Logan replied. "We figured it'll be nice to work close to each other."

"I hear ya, loverboy. Ma woman worked here till cancer took 'er a couple of years back."

_Suddenly, witness protection doesn't sound so bad._

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"Ya git used to it." Bradley shrugged. "Now, how 'bout them muscles of yours?"

* * *

Whatever Bradley said about muscles had apparently been a total fib. Working at a deserted strip mall involved more dusting than real heavy lifting.

_At least women could paint their nails._

The time crawled by the entire afternoon until his eight hours filled up. Bradley was cool - the big man, soft heart type - but he wasn't exactly a good conversationalist past the first hour. The afternoon wrung his extrovert's version of solitude very, very dry.

By the time Logan had said his goodbyes and headed out the door, the sun dipped deep into the horizon, its rays refracted in a thousand directions.

_Well, look at the time._

He pulled the edge of his cardigan - part of his new assigned ensemble - an inch lower. Logan Echolls did not do 'nerd.'

Enjoying the crisp afternoon air after a stuffy day amidst stuffy sofas, he treaded more briskly towards the other end of the strip mall. He turned the corner, bracing himself for the waiting and entreating that would be picking up Veronica.

Just how was he supposed to convince people they were engaged if she preferred a mutual ignoring of the other?

_We need to draft up an agreement of some sor-_

His thoughts experienced the abrupt interruption of two strong arms around his torso and two tense eyes fixed on his face.

"Ve - Vanessa?"

"I've missed you," she whispered so loudly they might as well had been on stage.

"And I - miss you," he concluded carefully. His hands instinctively drew around her back. She pulled herself closer, burying her face into his shoulder.

"Kiss me," a hint of a whisper barked against his ear.

_What?_

He used his hands to pull her face back into his line of vision. He raised an eyebrow in question.

She nodded.

_And here goes nothing._

He lowered his lips to hers, only to find her instantly kissing him back. While his kiss was gentle, hers was fiery - fierce. Her hands wandered about him possessively, her body squirming unnaturally. Her kisses grew flamboyant, like an excited understudy on her first real performance. Every second felt stranger than the last.

_What could she be pretendi -_

The telltale wind chime of the corner convenience store crinkled in a proximity that felt both near and distant. A middle-aged man in cashier wear threaded through Logan's peripheral vision, his own eyes being half-shut and all.

Then as readily as she had kissed him, she pulled back. Her every limb retracted to her side like a robot shut down. Her slim form pulled into a single, solid silhouette.

It took a few seconds for the pieces to click. But when they did, they snapped as tight as a water dam.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, unwarranted disappointment pumping in his blood.

Because it _was_ a performance, after all.

"Hey, sorry about that." Her voice called for his attention. "I - I couldn't let him recognize me."

The nervous frenzy of her kiss suddenly made a lot more sense.

"And here I thought you wanted to re-draft that roommate agreement," he snapped, still slightly annoyed.

"Look, Lo - Luke, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you misunderstand, okay?"

He shrugged, a tad bitter, until he re-thought the hesitance in her voice. He looked up. "Who was that?"

For a split second, her eyes glistened with a sliver of genuine fear. "That was Andrew Warbler - I arrested him before."

All the puzzle pieces flew into havoc.

"He's a criminal?"

"Worse," she whispered, voice low. "He's in witness protection."

* * *

" _You_ of all people should know you _never_ put acquainted candidates within ten miles of each other," she yelled into the phone, "much less at the same job!"

She could hear Logan pacing nervously in the kitchen - but who cares?

"Miss Mason, we assure you it's a mistake. We couldn't possibly - "

"You know better than this, Clark!"

Her ferocity temporarily silenced him.

"We promise his relocation in the morning." The officer's reply came much later.

She huffed in resignation. "And how can I hold you accountable for that?"

"You won't see him again - I promise."

_Ah, the promise. What could I do?_

"Fine! If I see him again, this goes to the Bureau."

"Yes, ma'am."

She didn't even wait for him to hang up. Agitated in every way, she flung the phone on the wooden coffee table and collapsed on to the sofa.

She heaved a heavy sigh.

_Helpless isn't my thing._

"You okay?"

She looked up at Logan's concerned expression. She shrugged and nodded simultaneously. "Something doesn't feel right. They're not supposed to put multiple people, much less acquainted ones, within ten miles of each other. It doesn't add up."

"Yeah," he spoke low and slow. "I heard."

She just sighed in reply.

"You know, I noticed something," he said a moment later. She looked up. "They put the two of us in the same _house_."

The clockwork sped in her mind. "When any background check would've confirmed our acquaintance."

He nodded firmly.

She looked down.

_So what exactly is going on?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Browning's cameo from the last chapter seemed unexpectedly popular. I might try to re-insert her into the narrative. Thank you so much to everyone who reads this story, and particularly to irma66 for her beta skills. I hope you like this chapter! And off I go to continue my round-the-clock obsession with Hamilton :)


	4. Roy Barker

The pan sizzled upon contact with the bacon, its aroma reaching every corner of the kitchen with its fatty invitation. He inhaled.

He'd be sick of this in a week.

_But there are some people worth dining for._

Logan smiled as he shifted away from the pan to grab some eggs from the fridge.

There's nothing like a job that starts late for night owls like him.

"Good morning." Her voice caught him by surprise.

He turned and offered a hesitant smile. "Hey - slept well?"

She shook her head.

_Can't blame her._

After the revelation that was yesterday, even he hadn't been able to sleep much.

_Hence the early breakfast._

It took herculean effort for him to wake up before Veronica. He looked up just in time to see her sensually taking in the smell of fresh bacon.

_But some things are worth the trouble._

He transferred the bacon to a plate, then served it casually on the table. "Heard back from Clark yet?"

"Yeah." She didn't sound happy.

"That bad?" He cracked the eggs efficiently.

"He claims it was a mistake."

He nodded for her to continue.

"And said he'll undo the situation or whatever."

"Sounds goo - " he caught himself mid-sentence.

_Undo?_

"Wait, he's not going to - " He couldn't bear to finish the thought as he turned around to face her. He felt his anxiety levels rising.

"What?" She looked at him, sleepy and confused.

"Does _undoing_ the situation involve - you or me?"

She frowned for a moment before the question sunk in. Then she shrugged. "I don't think so. I mean - he said he'd remove Andrew Warbler. That's about it."

The amount of relief was making him sweat. He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. "So we, uhm - we're good?"

She looked at him squarely, eyes zoomed in on his face.

She's analyzing him - he knew that much.

_But what's she looking for?_

"You," she said at last, matter-of-fact, "you want this?"

And once again, she'd caught him.

Logan sighed, taking a few steps back to buy some time. He leaned back against the counter, hands in pocket. He shrugged. "I dunno, I mean - better someone you know than a stranger, I guess?"

"Someone who won't sue you for sexual harassment, you mean?"

He looked up. Her words were fierce, but her eyes smiled.

He smiled too.

"More like molestation," he quipped back. "That kiss at the mall yesterday? I mean, man - most people would say - "

"Alright, I'm sorry! Okay?" She interrupted. She poked the bacon with her fork. "I broke the rule - my bad."

Now he can't help smiling. "So does this mean that the rule - "

"Nope, still in effect."

He could tell she was fighting a smile.

_What do you know? She's growing soft._

The thought made him smile wider.

"Happy?"

"Huh?" He looked at her, chewing her bacon.

"You were smiling - like, totally goofy smile. What's up?"

"So there's a rule on smiling now?"

"If you're gonna keep grinning like an idiot - then yes."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Blows our cover?" She shrugged, still eating.

"Cuz a man can't smile while hanging out with his fiancée."

" _Girlfriend_ ," she corrected.

"Same difference."

"Really? I don't see a ring anywhere around here." She raised her left hand in demonstration.

He smiled. Her willingness to be silly was a good sign.

_A good sign for what?_

He shook his head. While heading into the program had been a dramatic step, it had been a welcome one. He could witness against Liam with limited damage, and he'd get the chance to be normal for once.

_Until her presence threw it out the window._

Nothing was ever normal with Veronica Mars.

"See? Grinning again."

He looked up at her voice, only to have his smile sink deeper into his cheeks.

"Are you seriously _happy_ about this?"

He contemplated her for a moment before pulling up with another shrug. "I dunno - it's not all bad. I never did like my last name."

"Luke Erickson does have a ring to it."

"Exactly. I told Bradley - fresh name, fresh start."

"Fresh start?"

"Yeah."

"At what?"

He looked at her then, almost wishing he could admit the answer to himself. He looked away. "I dunno - life?"

"A life that isn't yours." Done eating, she leaned back in her seat.

"A life that's _better_ than mine."

"Right - cuz a millionaire playboy would much rather work in a deserted furniture store."

He'd have to admit - that stung. "Well, maybe not. But that's exactly why I'm here, you know? Maybe I don't _want_ to be a millionaire playboy - anymore."

"Then who would you be?"

He exhaled. "Whoever Luke is supposed to be."

He looked up when she didn't reply. Her eyes seemed to be searching his face. He shrugged. "Why? Do you _like_ all the baggage Neptune gave us - dead best friend, overboard bus, Hearst rapist?"

The harsh words seemed to make her collect herself. "No, of course not."

* * *

By the time Logan clocked out of work, he was once again laser-focused at retrieving Veronica from her job. He arrived just as she stepped out the door - wind chime and all. He lifted a brow in question.

She shook her head, eyes darting everywhere.

_Probably still being suspicious._

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She cocked her head to the side, the edges of her short hair brushing her shoulders. "I guess - I guess he's true to his word."

He nodded.

He stepped forward and carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. "And what about _our_ case?"

She looked up at him; eyes betraying nothing. "I - well, I didn't ask him."

_Does she want this as much as I do?_

He followed beside her, arm across her back and hand on her right shoulder, when she started to move. The fact that their workplace was a walkable distance from their new house at least made the job choices seem credible.

His mind still spun.

_Should I ask why?_

"Why?" Guess he just did. He inhaled, rather nervous. "Why didn't you ask him?"

Her facial expression looked rather surprised.

"Do you want me to?" Her accusatory tone came out of nowhere.

"Well, no, but I - "

She abruptly shrugged his hand off her shoulder. She spun around to face him. "If being with me is such a chore, Logan, I could easily request a change."

"But you wouldn't, right? _Vanessa_?"

A sliver of guilt shadowed her face, and then rapidly disappeared. "Well - there's no point nagging Clark. I mean, unless you want to, _Luke._ "

She always had a way of making it all sound like his fault.

"I'm good with this, trust me," he assured, hands raised palms-out in front of him. "I got no reason if you got no reason."

She smirked then. "And I'm just supposed to believe you?"

Her light tone surprised him; but hey, he wouldn't complain.

"Who else better to believe?" He contended, "You're talking to Mr. Childhood Friend here."

"Ah, so the self-congratulatory streak _did_ carry over," she remarked, lips turning up just a little.

Encouraged, he grinned back. He continued their way towards the house, walking backwards to face her as they moved. "You think my life's easy? Trying living with yourself first, Mason. It's no piece of cake."

"I didn't ask you to."

"Right - but nor did I." He shrugged at the glare she shot him. Her exasperation made him grin. "It _must_ be fate."

"Really? The theatrics? Now?"

"A man can't believe in destiny?"

"A man believes in doing something about his circumstances, Lo - Luke." They both stopped walking. "Why did you allow yourself in this mess anyway?"

"Mess? I beg to disagree. I find this all great."

"Being stuck playing pretend for the rest of your life - sure, #lifegoals."

"I'm not pretending, okay?" It's his turn to be exasperated. "I mean - yes, it's a new life, new name, new everything. But that doesn't mean I've been forced into this or something."

"Who would _ever_ choose witness protection?"

"Maybe I do."

"Right, sure, whatever."

"Do you _have_ to be dismissive about whatever I want?"

"Cuz I don't believe that's what you want."

"Well, what if it is?"

"Well, I don't think it is."

"But it is!"

"Why? Who told you to? Did the cops force you? Did they pressure you? What did they promise to give you in exchange for - "

"I chose and allowed this to happen, Veronica!"

The way he shouted her name lingered in the twilight air. They both groaned, panting as they faced each other in a standstill - his hands on his hips and hers determinedly locked. It took a minute for anyone to recover.

"Look," he spoke first - as always, "I'm not expecting you to understand this, okay?"

He walked over until they stood a mere two feet apart. He spoke gently. "I'm happy to be here. I chose to protect Trina, and I don't think this is punishment."

She looked up then. He continued, slowly, "I want this. I chose this. It may sound stupid to anyone who didn't grow up with paparazzi lurking outside their bedroom window - or have to deal with the chance of people snapping and making money off stolen naked shots."

He looked at her, straight in the eye. "I don't expect you to understand - but at least believe me."

"You _want_ to be stuck in the middle of nowhere land?" She finally said - asked, rather.

Logan sighed. "Yes, I do. I - I probably expected to like it a lot less if I were all by myself. But hey, having someone I know helping me out isn't all that bad."

Neither chose to clarify the implications in his words.

"I'm - sorry," she blurted, surprising him. "I guess I have to accept that, you know, not everyone thinks the same."

He stood, still shocked to silence, for another two seconds.

She seemed to fumble for words again. "Look, I - "

"You apologized?" His tongue finally unknotted itself, though his mind still wandered. "I mean, that's not something that I - "

"He died before I could say sorry," she stated, and then shrugged. "It's not the best story to tell, but hey - maybe it did teach me something, you know?"

_Right - Keith._

He nodded slowly, her sadness causing his. "I mean, I'm sorry too. I - I shouldn't have allowed it to escalate, and I meant to say that - "

His words dropped into a loud grunt as a piece of wood whirled by and had him crashing down on the sidewalk.

* * *

"Logan!"

She threw herself down beside him immediately. She could tell he'd almost passed out as her hands found the growing mound at the back of his head.

"Lo, stay with me."

He mumbled incoherently.

Satisfied with his consciousness, she glanced up at the direction of what must have been a heavy boomerang. Still traveling, it sailed across the air and into the hands of a lanky young man in a grey hoodie.

She narrowed her eyes.

"Sorry!" The guy, probably a teenager, yelled before disappearing into the bushes.

She couldn't shake off the sense of familiarity.

"Veronica?"

She looked down at the face cradled between her hands. "You'll be okay. Let's go home."

* * *

"Thanks." He took the pack of ice and pressed it behind him. He flinched.

"No problem."

Having adjusted to the temperature, he leaned back against the pillow and finally looked at her. Though seated on the bed beside him, her eyes looked straight out the window. Her elbow twitched.

_She's nervous._

"Vee, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." The reply was instant.

_What else did I expect?_

He scooted a tiny bit closer. "I'm sure it was an accident."

She didn't move.

"Boomerangs - they're not uncommon. I mean - "

"Roy Barker."

He frowned. "Who?"

"He looked like Roy Barker." She turned, gaze still far away. "I haven't seen him for years, but still - I'd like to think I'm pretty good with faces."

The pain at the back of his head matched his confusion. " _Another_ person you know?"

"I arrested his father before; Roy was still a kid then. But still - " She herself trailed off, breath heavy.

"Maybe we can ask - Clark?" The ludicrous suggestion had him almost hitting himself in the face. "I mean, if he'll tell us the truth."

"It couldn't have been an accident. The kid - what if this is all a trap? What if we're just here because they're coming for us?"

"Who?"

"Fitzpatricks? Sorokin? I don't know!" She shifted off the bed - took two steps back. "What if - "

"Veronica, we'll be fine!" He flinched at the pain of straining forward. He pulled back a little. "It's probably just an accident. Teens will be teens. I'm fine. There's no need to - "

He's silenced by the clear, distinct sound of a doorbell.

They looked straight at each other - and stared.

But when she moved, she did so all at once.

"I'll get it," she blurted while darting out the door.

"Wait!"

He couldn't catch her.

So he leaned back, listened, and waited.

_Maybe Mrs. Browning's bringing cookies again?_

He waited some more.

By the third minute, he was scrambling out the door.

The bumps and crashes of his stumbling gait were interrupted by her presence at the top of the stairs. He looked at her, wordlessly questioning.

"It's a letter," she stated, unusually calm.

He waited, heart thumping, until she walked up to him. She lifted the small, white card from its envelope.

'Gotcha'

The word was typed - clean, crisp, and menacing.

"Who's it from?" He blurted thoughtlessly.

"I wish I knew."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My inspiration for this story is starting to run dry. If there are enough interested readers, I would finish it. If not, I'll remove this and start another story instead. Any thoughts?


	5. Garrett Clark

He pressed a hand to the base of his neck before his fingers wandered up to the back of his head. He flinched awake.

For a few seconds, his eyes catalogued every item in the room. He turned his head sideways to sniff the pillow.

_Did she stay all night?_

Another shot of pain stifled that train of thought and forced his attention on the present. He gingerly removed himself from the covers until he stood by the side of his bed.

"I believed you once, Clark. I'm not believing you again!"

With his door being open, her voice travelled freely into his room. He wandered into the hallway, one hand massaging the aching bump at the back of his head.

"I want a transfer, and I want it _now_!"

He moved down the stairs, bare feet stepping carefully down each wooden step.

"Really? You're playing that card? Random my ass - stop pulling this crap!"

He stopped three steps from the bottom. She paced freely around the living area as she shouted into the phone. Her left hand slashed the air around her like an angry conductor as she yelled mercilessly at her handler.

"Neighbors? Really - neighbors? So I'll call up Mrs. Browning, and she'll be trembling over a card too?"

He took another step.

"We need to be transferred, Clark - effective immediately."

_We?_

His pulse quickened as he finally landed on the first floor.

"Fine!"

That was her last hurrah, apparently, before she hung up and collapsed on the sofa in an exasperated heap. He walked over slowly, and her face betrayed exactly when she saw him coming.

"How are you feeling?"

_Well, what do you know, she cares._

He rubbed his head lightly. "Slightly better. Sorry to sleep in, I didn't know that - "

"I made breakfast. It's fine," she informed him directly. "Not that I think you ever eat breakfast unless you're making it for me."

He smiled slightly at the fact that she'd noticed. "I'll grab a bite or two."

She nodded, effectively ending the conversation. He turned towards the kitchen.

"That was - Marshall Clark," she spoke before he left. He looked back at her. She met his eye. "He said the note was a 'random neighborhood prank.' Apparently, everyone on our street got one."

Uncertain, he stayed where he was. She, on the other hand, sank further into the sofa in a display of helplessness he had never seen before. A feisty woman cut off from her every contact except an incompetent handler - he never thought he'd see the day.

_But what could I do?_

He cleared his throat. "You, uhm - wanna check out those claims?"

The gratefulness in her eyes as she nodded surprised even him.

* * *

The sun dipped low as he shut their front door behind them. Each door had only gotten more depressing than the last. Be it Mrs. Browning's subtle hints against fornication, the wolf whistle the man across the street directed towards Veronica, or the girl whose make-out session with her boyfriend they'd interrupted - there was nothing worth noting.

_Nothing at all._

Logan watched as Veronica trudged aimlessly across the living room.

_Why is she like this?_

"Vanessa," he called, stepping forward till he stood right behind her, "you okay?"

She surprised him with a scoff before she whipped around. "What's with everybody asking that?"

He paused the ready quip on the tip of his tongue. Snarkiness wasn't the key to the facts.

"About Clark - uhm, is he sure about this?" He fumbled instead.

She shrugged, gaze low. "It doesn't add up."

"They _did_ all get the same letter."

"And that must make it completely benign," she snapped. Her eyes glared at him angrily, before she lowered them with a sniffle.

_What?_

"Are you o - I mean, I'm as worried as you are. But hey, maybe it really wasn't ill-intended."

"They hit you, Logan!" She looked up, eyes afire, while her fists clenched at her sides. "How could I be okay with that?"

"It's not the same people - "

"What if it is?"

"Then we can ask Clark to - "

" _He_ of all people should know what it's like - stupid marshall." She dropped on the sofa, her face openly exhibiting disdain.

He stopped then, as he's seemed to have been doing quite often. Slowly, he edged forward until he could kneel by her side.

He looked up at her profile, at shaky eyelashes and bitten lip. "What happened with Clark?"

She paused for a moment, perhaps contemplatively. Then she spoke. "He was hurt before. Someone shot him in the knee."

"I see," he encouraged.

She gulped before adding, "He was in witness protection."

A myriad of questions flooded his mind. He opted for one, "Who hurt him?"

"He was in the program because of his abusive stepfather. It took a judge extensive deliberation to allow a young teen into WITSEC instead of foster care. But he got in." She sighed. "But his stepfather found him - and hurt him."

She turned to look him in the eye. "That's when the shadowing program started."

He nodded. "Why entrants aren't allowed to be left alone."

"Yeah," she confirmed. She looked down again. "And I've been thinking."

He waited for her to continue.

After a minute, she heaved a heavy, audible sigh. "Maybe we shouldn't be separated."

He processed the thought. "It's always easier to take us out individually."

"Yeah." Her voice felt hollow.

"I mean, I do walk you to work - and we don't have separate schedules most of the time, we - "

"At night."

He paused to look at her. Her frown indicated a deeper worry than he'd ever seen from her before. "Night?"

"Maybe we shouldn't be sleeping alone."

* * *

While 'not sleeping alone' had initially sounded like a good idea, he knew from the moment she slipped under the covers next to him that he was a lost cause. There was no sleeping with Temptation Incarnate a mere two inches behind him.

_Who offers to share a bed with her ex-boyfriend?_

Lost in his mental battles, Logan almost yelped when Veronica pressed two small fingers against the spot where the boomerang hit. He turned around as fast as he could without aggravating the pain.

"Sorry!" She blurted right away. "I didn't realize - "

"It's fine." He rubbed around the spot for a bit.

She watched him silently. The silence disconcerted him.

"You, uhm, sure about this?" He searched her eyes as they faced him, the right side of her face pressed into the white pillow that her right hand supported.

_Do not think of the Grand, do not think of the Grand. DO NOT think of -_

"Yeah," she spoke softly. She looked down for a moment before meeting his eye again. "I hope you don't mind."

_Do I?_

He pondered her statement for a moment. This sleeping arrangement was hands down a cruel and unusual punishment.

_But why do I like it then?_

He mustered a smile. "I'm fine. You sure about not using your room?"

She shook her head into the pillow. "You're hit. You need to be as near your stuff as possible."

"Luke doesn't have much stuff, remember?"

She smiled a little. "Yeah, yeah - but still, this room is nearer the stairs anyway."

"And nearer any predators."

She sighed, and he knew he was being difficult.

"Sorry - I didn't mean to question your decision," he assured. He reached over to place his right hand on her left shoulder.

That small gesture of bodily contact, however, ignited something he had long believed impossible. For the next few seconds, they looked straight into each other's eyes. With their height leveled by their reclining position, her face - her lips - lay closer to his than they had in forever. Every inch of his body became hyper-aware of every inch of hers.

He knew the soft skin that met his hand now trailed all the way to her fingers. He knew that lying sideways made her bosom full and tender. He knew that the bump in the comforter right across his waist was the curve of her hip.

Instinctively, he pulled closer. She seemed to do the same.

When they were only an inch apart, she heaved a heavy breath.

They both snapped out of it in an instant. They rolled backwards, each facing the ceiling. The way his neck hit the edge of the pillow had him crying out in pain, and he immediately sat up.

She was up beside him in an instant.

"You okay?" Her fingers gently fondled the area where he'd been hit. "Lo, you okay?"

He nodded without looking up, still doubling over from the pain. The entire time he bent over, her hand remained gently on his back.

He looked up a minute later, and he's surprised by the soft eyes greeting him.

"You okay?" She asked again.

"Yeah," he whispered.

For a handful of seconds, the two former lovers - and current partners - stared gingerly at each other, both unsure.

After one last moment of deliberation, Logan reached out to hug her - tightly. He pressed a kiss in her hair. "Goodnight, Vee."

Then he let go, turned over, and lay down for bed.

* * *

She pushed in the last bottle of milk, pulled back, and triumphantly slammed the refrigerator shut. She fought the urge to slap her hands against each other as if she's dusting them off.

_The accomplishment of the early riser._

She grinned at her own thoughts. After a week of genuinely good sleep, she'd been up and awake far earlier than expected today.

_Nothing more fulfilling than an early run of groceries._

She shifted over to whip up the pancake batter. Despite the hypocrisy of leaving him alone in the house, when had she ever refused the beckon of breakfast?

"Hey there."

She turned at the voice. She smiled. "Good morning."

"Mornin'" Logan grumbled. He raised a hand to scratch his already messy hair. The gesture lifted his T-shirt just high enough to leave an enticing view of delicious abs between his shirt and the top of his pajama pants.

_Veronica, wake up._

She willed herself not to blush. After that close call that first night in bed, she'd been determined to avoid any other similar scenario.

_Can't have myself falling for him again._

She inhaled sharply.

_Wait - what?_

"So, you're up early." His voice forced her back to the present.

She shrugged. "Uhm, yeah - wasn't tired anymore."

She turned back to the batter and called over her shoulder. "Didn't bother to change?"

She's caught by surprise at the sound of sheepish laughter. "Well, you're usually there when I wake up. After last week - you know."

_I know._

She turned around after a final whisk. "How's your head?"

Logan shrugged. "It's alright - getting there. They never found the guy?"

"No." She licked her lips as she walked over. She leaned across the counter between them. "I, uhm - I checked. It wasn't Roy."

"You can tap into info banks on any of our neighbors?" He looked almost impressed.

"No - but I can sleuth." She smiled a little. "It doesn't take much to trace where the only two Playboy subscriptions were being delivered around here."

"Ah, I knew I should've bribed the mailman."

"Not the dog to go after him?"

"If only we had one."

They exchanged pleasant smiles.

She spoke first, "So - uhm, pancakes?"

"Sure, I'll take one." He stepped towards the counter. "Unless my ration's only for a half?"

They both chuckles as she made a show of throwing the spatula against his face.

"Hey, watch out," he lamented. "Don't ruin this pretty face."

"A pretty face who needs someone to comb his hair."

"Girls die for the bedhead, you know."

"A bad boy can't be made to care?"

"Exactly."

She found herself grinning back at him. "Do you want that pancake or not?"

"Depends." He leaned back on his chair. "Does it come with a dose of paranoia?"

"I think your quota's just half a dose." She winked.

* * *

She inhaled a general amount of the scrumptious aroma. "Hm, steak?"

"And criss-cut potatoes," he added as he set down the plates with a flare. He grinned. "Not bad, huh?"

"Not bad," she conceded. She slid on her seat with a smile. "Eating at this rate, I'll be double my weight in a month."

"Then you'll finally be half of mine." He didn't miss a beat. He dropped on the opposite seat. "I'd rather have a chubby wife than a hungry one."

" _Girlfriend_."

"Fine, girlfriend it is," he compromised. Then he winked.

_Ugh, Veronica._

She ignored the comment to focus on her food. She'd have to admit after the first slice - that medium rare was spot-on. "You cook a lot?"

"Often enough." He swallowed a bite. "Even the best room service can't beat freshly homemade food."

"I'm surprised you know the difference."

"Hey, even a rich kid needs to survive." He grabbed a piece of the crispy, crunchy potato. "Not that you would know, right? Always calling us trust fund folks spoiled brats and refusing our food."

The spitefulness in his voice gave her pause. After a moment's deliberation, she huffed. "Alright, Logan - we need to talk."

"Ah, she finally cracks." His voice brought humor, but his eyes frowned. "Finally noticed this false civility isn't working?"

_Can you ever make this easy for once?_

She gulped. "I know I haven't been easy to deal with these past weeks. All this - set-up - it's been surprising and tough."

She looked at him and continued, "I know I act like I don't want to be here - and I don't. It's not nice to be someone else with a different name, identity, and everything. I'm sure it's tough on you too. But, look, wait - "

She stopped his response with an outstretched palm. "Look, I never said this was because of you."

His tongue flicked over his lower lip.

_He's listening._

"Logan, it's not you, okay? I don't like the whole WITSEC thing. I was upset before you even came. And, seriously, the boomerang and stuff doesn't inspire confidence either."

He stayed silent.

She braved on. "So - if you're thinking that this whole charade is unpalatable to me, then yes - you're right."

She reached out to place her hand over the one he had laying on the table. "But it's not about you, okay?"

His eyes met hers for a quick second, deep and soulful. She saw disbelief - then she saw hope.

She inhaled.

"For real?" He finally uttered.

"Yes," she assured both of them, "for real."

He looked to the side, contemplating. She tried her best to wait him out.

"So the sharing a bed thing isn't a way to keep an eye on me so that I don't escape?"

_He thought that?_

"Of course not." She withdrew, offended. "Why would you even think that?"

"I dunno - it's not like _you_ want to be here."

"I don't - but it's not because of you!"

"Ah, and you'll gladly share bedspace with _anyone_ the bureau assigns?"

She breathed in sharply. In an instant, she had shoved herself away from the table and off her seat. "You can't possibly think that!"

"Ah - so it _is_ about me." His eyes, rueful and hurt, met hers again. "And here I was hoping that I had crossed over from hate territory to indifferent."

_Indifferent?_

The accusation stung more than she'd care to admit. Her hands flew to her hips. "Logan, why do you have to be this difficult?"

"Me? Difficult?" He looked away, huffing. "That's always been your preferred term of endearment."

"Logan!"

"Veronica!"

The stared at each other, both chests heaving and both tempers flared.

"Why sleep in my room and not anybody else's?" He asked first.

She licked her lips, unready to response. He, apparently, didn't wait her out.

"No answer? No reason again?" He complained, his face twisted into a painful scowl. "I should've known better than to - "

"Because I care, okay?" She exploded then, silencing all his further efforts. He stared back; she refused to back down. "I care, Logan - I care. I care that no one sneaks in the middle of the night and kills you. I care that you don't wake up to gunshots as someone attacks my room. I care that neither of us be caught by _any_ predators - human or otherwise - all alone!"

She looked away at the last line, eyes stinging. By the time she turned back around, she's surprised by his towering form hovering above hers.

She sniffed. "Whaddya what?"

He didn't say.

She scoffed. "Look who doesn't have an answer now. I thought - "

Her words stop short as she met his eyes.

Suddenly, her heart shifted into supersonic speed. She inhaled, lungs tight. "I thought - "

She stopped again when he lowered his face - inches from her own. She forced her hands to stay by her side. His eyes bore into hers with wonder and pain.

"You care?" He whispered, voice barely audible.

"Yeah," she managed a single syllable. All the cabinets, walls, and floors behind him blurred into a pastel background. She gazed at his lips. She could feel his gaze on hers.

He started to move closer, tantalizingly slow.

_I'm sure he's about to -_

"Logan, what are we doing?" She stopped him an inch away.

He didn't move for the first two seconds. At the third, he pulled up and stepped away. He sighed. She pretended to appear relieved.

"You still want dinner?"

She looked up at his question. His face was blank, expressionless.

"Yeah, sure."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear VM fandom, I am so happy to be back in your loving arms! Thank you for encouraging me to continue this story, despite my reservations. Someone reminded me that I had made a promise to complete each of my stories, and I should keep it.
> 
> Much thanks to irma66 for catching my errors. Also, I made up the shadowing program for WITSEC. There's no need to Google and be confused ;)


	6. Liam Fitzpatrick

There could only be so many chairs to dust and covers to clean in a furniture store boasting a grand average of three customers a day.

_I swear her job's more interesting._

"In other news, a 60-year-old woman was found hanging on a tree in her backyard in an attempt to save her cat. This cat - "

The radio's static mumble didn't offer anything worthwhile either.

"Bored?"

Logan turned to face his boss. The man's question felt honest enough. Logan shrugged. "Excitement's no tagline of the program."

Bradley, bare arms and all, nodded solemnly. "Ya hang in there, fella."

Logan smiled a little. "I will."

_Cuz the longer I hang in here, the longer she stays around._

"Now for a word from our sponsors."

The radio's cheesy jingles failed to pull him from the inevitable emotional spiral.

Hands planted on the ornate back of a dining chair, he sighed.

_And here I was thinking I'd reached my goal._

His frown deepened. While his cocky self-absorption had promised relief at her admission of caring for him, the result was quite the opposite.

_I just felt worse._

Logan tightened his grip. Sure, he'd backed away with his integrity intact - and kept his promise to himself that he wasn't about to get rejected again after another fake kiss.

_Then why do I feel so - broken?_

He almost scoffed audibly at his own melodrama.

_What am I - an English teacher?_

"At 6'2" with dark hair, blue eyes - " The radio droned on.

Logan smirked, his very soul feeling grim at this point - all because of a pair of sparkling blue eyes. Because give it a decade or a half apart, she still had the same hold on him.

"Local residents are suggested to stay indoors." The static noises crackled louder than the reporter's voice.

Logan looked at Bradley. The big man shrugged.

_At this point - I'd give anything to be OUTDOORS._

For a few more seconds, he pulled down and refocused on scrubbing the table leg completely clean. Each second saw him leaning deeper into the shadow of the tabletop.

"We have just received news about the identity of this mystery man," the radio cackled on.

Logan scrubbed harder.

"Known as Liam Fitzpatrick."

His head hit the table instantly.

 _No_.

Right hand pressed firmly against the aching spot on the back of his head, he scrambled out from beneath the table. He came face to face with a wide-eyed store owner.

"Ya'll alright, there?"

Logan swallowed, shaking his head. His eyes burned in his head.

"Ya'll gotta go?"

_He knows._

"Yes." Between aching neck and throbbing head, he finally found his tongue. "May I - "

"Go, son."

He nodded thanks and was out the door.

* * *

The rows and aisles of chips, canned goods, and plastic bottles swirled together into an impressionists' palette. Her hand flew on to the cashier counter for support. She blinked.

_Liam Fitzpatrick._

Her surroundings spun another five degrees. She felt the vomit climbing up her esophagus.

_Chill, girl. You've trained for this._

She blinked - repeatedly - then shook her head as if to disperse a cloud around her face. Her eyes jumped back to the rows upon rows of synthetic color.

"We repeat: local citizens are suggested to stay indoors," the radio droned on.

But she was wide awake.

Her hands instinctively catalogued every item on her. She gazed at the shelf beside the cashier - that little row of impulsive purchases.

_Nope, I don't need gum right now._

Recuperating from her initial shock, she backed away from the counter.

_If Liam Fitzpatrick is here..._

She slid around and out to the wider floor space.

_That could only mean..._

She looked up sharply, plan of action set.

 _Logan_.

She pulled off her apron, mumbled an insincere excuse, and pushed out the door.

_Liam Fitzpatrick._

She gulped, nervous in spite of herself.

_Wasn't this what I became an agent for?_

The thrill of the chase, the urgency of split-second decisions - she'd adored this stuff.

_Then why does this feel eerily unsettling?_

The chime fading behind her, she shifted firmly to the left.

She ran.

Ten hurried steps later, she met his eye.

_Logan..._

The worry in his gaze proved that he wasn't the least bit worried about himself.

She breathed in, fighting the sudden onslaught of tears. Veronica Mars was _never_ a softie.

Never - until she was.

Emotional equilibrium completely knocked off-center, she dashed towards him, conspicuousness be damned. He rushed forward just as urgently.

She was ready to fall into his arms, to cry into his shoulder, to let him hold her up in a hero's pose. He looked fierce, determined, and tender all at once as he flew towards her.

After all - that's what happens in the movies, right?

_But I'm Veronica Mars._

Closing the ten yards between them, she hugged him first. He reciprocated by gathering her close against his torso - and his beating heart.

For another ten seconds, they held each other closely as their whirling world restored itself.

_Unless this is the new normal._

The thought had her pulling back first; he promptly let go.

She scanned his eyes - then grabbed his arm. "Let's go."

She took off immediately. His eyes flashed bewilderment as he followed her small form.

_Gotta get him safe._

She could hear the whispers of a fading door chime behind her, and she refused to think who it could be.

"Veronica - "

She dragged him forward unapologetically towards the nearest street. His long legs caught up in an easy stride.

"Where are we - "

His questions's cut off by the sight of a fast-approaching van. It stopped for them.

_Two more lanes to go._

Simultaneously annoyed and grateful at their jobs' proximity to the largest avenue in town, she pulled them onwards.

A car horn, loud screeches, and one breathless Logan later, they landed on the woody embankment across from the deserted strip mall. She let him go, transferring her hands on to her knees as she leaned forward, panting. To her left, he heaved breaths just as heavy as hers.

"Where are - where are we going?" He managed between breaths.

"Somewhere - safe." She panted. Her eyes scanned the trees.

_We'll make this work._

"Where - "

She cut him off with yet another strong grip as she plunged them into the woods.

Stray branches clawed at their clothes; the leaves on the ground perished under their weight. Still, she towed them on.

Deciduous leaves - half brown and half fiery red - waved around them like a woodland on fire. She tugged them on.

Her feet traced a path she'd practiced years ago. Her eyes scanned for every marked tree, stone, or stump. Every part of her training, dormant for months, sprung back to life with univocal purpose.

He'd stopped questioning her by now as she immersed them deeper into the foliage, her nimble feet weaving a path from one sparse patch to another. She felt his hand, the one she's not holding, wrap around her waist. For once, she didn't mind the comfort.

_But who's got time for comfort?_

She took another sharp turn. He athletically shifted along with her. At this rate - she'd never get rid of him ever again.

_Not that I'd want to anyway._

She flinched at her own thought, burying it away for another, less life-threatening hour. The nuances of romance had never posed any genuine competition to true danger.

Twenty steps later, they pulled to a stop before a large, whitewashed, wooden house. She could feel him cataloguing the place. The dirty panels, streamer-like cobwebs, and broken step on the porch cried dilapidation. But she knew the fully-functional haven within the broken shell.

"Straight out of a movie," Logan quipped, hand on her shoulder.

"Well, Hollywood got it from us," she snapped back, voice proud.

"Ya sure got the forlorn safehouse down to a tee."

"Maybe because it _is_ one?"

"Ah, how enlightening." He smiled down at her, and the thought that everything might be fine, after all, tugged at her mind.

The crashing sound of a broken branch echoed from the woods. They both turned towards it - then to each other.

"Wine cellar," she barked.

He nodded. They ran.

* * *

"I know I'm not the agent here," said Logan as they balanced their way down the narrow steps, "but are we _sure_ getting cornered underground is a good idea?"

_Ya think?_

She told the uncertainty in her own brain to shut up. She closed the doors behind them, nudging him further from behind. "It's easily overlooked."

"But what if he finds us?" The slight quiver in his voice hinted at the fear beneath the false bravado.

Adrenaline pumping, she felt a pang of panic that she forced herself to ignore. She licked her lips, frowning. "Just - trust me."

He nodded casually as he hit the bottom of the staircase, his frame bent over to accommodate the low ceiling. "Why does this place have a wine cellar anyway?"

"It's the best place to bring in whole boxes of stash without raising suspicions," she explained, patience fast giving way for genuine fear. "Besides, you'd be surprised at the nooks and crannies a wine cellar could justify."

"Like this one?" He peered around an L-shaped shelf.

_Logan, please._

Unless that's his coping mechanism.

She sighed. "We'll be okay - alright?"

"Yeah." His reply sounded rehearsed, but unsure.

_As if he's convincing himself._

"Liam can't find us that easily," she insisted.

"I hope not."

"Look, Logan!" She marched in front of him and grabbed him by the biceps. "He's _not - going - to - find - us."_

He looked at her then, eyes uncertain. She willed his fears - and hers - away.

She gripped him tighter. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

His eyes glistened - hopeful.

She inhaled.

_Go for it, girl._

"To us," she added.

His eyes widened visibly. He inhaled - sharply. She began to doubt, quite strongly, if she should've said anything at all.

The loud bang of a door forcefully thrown open gave her no time to decide.

Both of them, jumping at the sound, hung tightly to the empty shelves.

_Did I imagine that?_

She glanced at Logan. His eyes were suddenly unreadable.

_But he heard it too - right?_

Another loud crash of falling metal, distinctly above them, confirmed her deepest fear.

Instantaneously, she found herself locked in tight, safe, masculine arms. He whirled them over behind a shelf.

"Is this one of those nooks?" He whispered hoarsely.

"Ya think?"

Neither spoke as the wooden floor - creaking loudly under each footstep - indicated the exact position of the man above them. He held her tighter.

"You okay?"

For some reason, the soft way he spoke those words didn't bother her as much as it should.

"Yeah."

Another loud creak, mere inches from Logan's head, had her pulling him even closer than he'd been.

For five nervous, painful seconds, they listened to the whining wood. The man - cuz those heavy, booted steps couldn't have been anything else - walked towards the kitchen, the hallway, and then back to the kitchen.

_Maybe if he doesn't see -_

As if finding a new sense of purpose, their visitor strode resolutely down the length of the hallway above them - and out the back door.

She held her breath.

_Please don't see the -_

The cellar door clattered loudly against its hinges. The door frame vibrated from repeated attempts to pry it open.

She felt Logan inhale.

_Please think that there's no -_

"Hey," Logan's voice, barely a whisper, breathed against the top of her head.

"Yeah?" She whispered back.

"If we don't it out of this - if Liam - or that guy - or whatever - "

"We'll be fine!" She repeated, conviction waning. She clung to him - hands fisted.

The jiggling grew louder - more forceful.

She blinked back the tears in her eyes. "We'll be fine. Trust me."

"Veronica! We're in a _wine cellar_ hiding from - "

She looked up and glared at him directly. He stopped talking.

She inhaled, heart pounding - and insisted, "We'll - be - fine."

His eyes softened. And she wished, for a moment, that they were _not_ in a wine cellar - hiding from who-knows-whom.

_Cuz things would be so much simpler that way._

Then, all of a sudden, like driving a car through the edge of a rainstorm - the movement stopped.

They heard a loud grunt, a last kick, and footsteps shuffling away.

* * *

Each footstep on the wooden planks sounded as loud as thunder. He tried to step more softly to no avail. One yard ahead of him, still holding his hand, Veronica inched closer to the safehouse's backdoor.

_Why are we going back in?_

"We'll need some supplies if we run," she replied to his unspoken question.

"Right."

With her small hand firmly grasped within his larger one, his body resolutely refused to let him forget the way her eyes had skipped to her lips, or the way her fists had clung against his chest, in the privacy of the wine cellar less than an hour ago.

_Fitzpatrick should've tried a bit longer._

He shook his head, dissipating the foolish thought, just when they'd finally sneaked their way to the actual backdoor. She shot him a look, free hand on the knob. He nodded.

She turned back to face the door after a returning nod of her own. He held his breath as she nudged the door open.

"Coast's clear."

He followed her into the kitchen. Stepping softly into the new space, he spared a thought on how well-furnished the area appeared - utensils, plates, pots, pans, and spices as fully stocked as a housewife's pantry. He placed both hands on the nearest counter. Its smooth texture belied the house's rough appearance.

_If I hadn't known better, I would've thought -_

"You bitch!"

The dark bellow of an angry man drew his instant attention.

To his left - jaw set and fists clenched - Liam Fitzpatrick stormed forcefully down the narrow hallway. With the strides he was making, he was a mere five steps away from -

_Veronica._

Logan's mind froze completely still - every portion greyed out into stone. The smooth counter, the stocked shelves, the rough tiles, and his own hands cemented into a monochromatic still-life. Time froze too - the second hand on the wall clock stuck in a repeated twitch. He thought - he tried to think. His mind refused. He tried again.

_Veronica._

Stationed three steps away, in the exact center of his greyscale mindscape, she shone with light and life. Where everything faded, she glowed. When everything stilled, her eyes grew large as she peered into the distance.

He followed her gaze.

_No!_

His limbs sprung to life just as his mind finally acknowledged their circumstance. He rushed forward, hands wide open. Then, three steps later, his right hand reached out for Veronica's shoulder, tucking her behind him; his left hand swung around to make sure she _stayed_ behind him.

Then he looked up.

"Well, if it isn't Aaron's own little shit." Liam, only a handful of inches taller than he was, still towered over him. Logan gulped. Liam growled, "Guess it's my lucky day."

Hands still holding Veronica behind him, Logan had no retaliation to offer the two large hands that swung forward - and lifted him by the collar.

Logan found his hands - and his feet - dangling in the air. His throat struggled to maintain a clear passage of air.

"I'll have you in pieces before you can say 'please,'" Liam threatened gleefully, tightening his grip.

_Fine - just don't hurt Veronica._

Logan's mind fogged at the lack of air. He swung his legs forward, desperate to get a kick.

Then suddenly, there it was - that familiar crackle of electricity - that sound that had preceded so many moments of deliverance - before he fell on to the ground. Logan gasped, anxious for air. He shoved himself backwards until his back hit the wall. His mind swirled.

He was grateful for the momentary reprieve to let his body recover. After all, the trustfund life wasn't one to build muscle. He was lucky that Liam wasn't -

_Veronica._

His eyes shot open and up. His breath quickened at the sight of Veronica, wrists trapped in Liam's hands, trying to swivel her way out. He pushed himself off the ground instantly.

_But what could I do against 200 pounds of crazy?_

His eyes fled to the counter behind Veronica - and its fully stocked collection.

He stumbled over as fast as he could, and he pulled out the largest butcher knife he could see.

"I'll see you take this!" Logan felt every bit a teenager as he swung the knife between Liam and Veronica, with Liam retracting his arms just in time to keep his limbs. A short rush of triumph flood his senses - until he realized that he had no Plan B.

_Don't they just surrender after this?_

He met Liam's eyes - Liam's very pissed off eyes.

_Don't they?_

The eyes charged forward.

_Towards my knife - right? RIGHT?_

Logan braced himself for the clash. A small part of him was absolutely certain that the knife in his hand would be buried in his own gut within the next three seconds. He gripped the handle tighter. He waited for impact.

But the clear, harsh ring of a gunshot made sure it never came.

Logan looked down, knife in hand, to see the man the taser couldn't tame cowering over a gunshot to his thigh.

"Go!"

His mind shot to the woman beside him.

"Let's go!"

He didn't need to be told again.

* * *

"Instant transfer - now!" She barked into the phone she pressed closely against her cheek. She ran as fast as her short legs would take her. The foliage sped by in a warped-speed blur.

She could hear - and feel - Logan's large footsteps behind her. With his longer legs, he could easily overtake her. But he lingered - letting her take them to the next safe place.

_And I appreciate that with all my heart._

She huffed a weary breath, frowning away the soft emotions. She refocused on her phone. "Now! Right this instant! I need new names, new IDs, new home, and new work."

The non-committal mumble she received over the line fanned her flaring temper to full flame.

She gritted her teeth as she threaded her way between houses and through lanes - towards their shared home for the past weeks.

"Agent Mars?" Clark's voice - annoying as hell - asked in false beguilment.

"If I don't get all that within the day," she threatened, eyes narrow, as she ran, "I'm headed to Stanley. And I know all that federal nonsense about different jurisdictions, but God forbid that you do not let me have - "

"Yes, yes." Clark's voice, and attitude, seemed to pick up slightly. He sighed. "We'll get you what you want."

"I would thank you," she replied, pulling up to the house's backyard. She stopped, panting. She heard Logan slowing down to a halt behind her. "But I _know_ it's just your job."

Clark was saying something - but she hung up anyway.

For a handful of seconds, she stood by herself, wordless and panting. She could feel Logan hovering - but what could she do?

_I'm in no shape to -_

"Veronica?" He asked, obviously concerned.

She slowly turned to face him. Hands still braced on her hips, she looked up. Her own eyes watered at the sight of his teary ones. She licked her lips.

He was the one to speak again. "Are you okay?"

_After all this time..._

"Yeah," she panted, "we just need to get some stuff and run for it."

He nodded wordlessly. And she felt - like a complete idiot.

_Cuz packing is the last thing I want to do right now._

She felt his gaze searing into hers. His jaw, so often slim and boyish, was set in firm resolve. His shoulders - a constant source of comfort for so many times over so many years - leaned forward in a mixture of desire and concern.

She gulped. "Logan - "

"Thank you," he whispered, gentle voice in stark contrast with his towering presence.

_Thank you?_

"Sure, of course," the words tumbled out of her. Her vision blurred further at the recollection of Liam Fitzpatrick charging at him. "Logan, it's you! I can't _ever_ stand it if anything happened - "

She choked over the rest of her own words.

But he would have none of it. Striding forward immediately, he grabbed her into a tight, safe hug. His arms wound around her and settled on opposite shoulders; his chin instantly tucked her against his neck. She felt every nerve of her body awaken.

"The gun, Veronica - the gun," he whispered reverently above her. "I know you're an agent and all, but really - thank you."

And once started, the tears kept coming.

"Use it to save yourself, okay?" He continued, still. "Next time - if there's a next time - don't wait for me. Please go. I want you safe. I _need_ you safe. I want you in once piece of wonderful Veronica Mars-ness, and I want you - I want you -"

She pulled back and met his gaze. Her heart jumped to her throat.

_Well, it's now or never._

"Cool." She fought to keep her voice steady. "Cuz I happen to want you too."

Her strong forearms pulled him back before he could respond.

_This is stupid. I mean, why would he -_

From the very moment his lips touched hers, his kisses left no room for argument. Stunned - yet glad - she kissed him back with equal ferocity. Lips opening, tongues searching, throats moaning, hands roaming, legs melting, chest heaving, nerves tingling - a million sensations descended upon her like the wrath of a thunderstorm brewed far past its due.

His hands found her back, her waist, her hips, her thighs. Hers found his neck, his chest, his abs, his ass. His lips soon trailed to her neck, while hers devoured his earlobes. Her blood vessels battled against her veins - from her brain down to her very fingertips. She kissed, she sighed, she hummed, and she whimpered.

_How does he -_

He kissed all thoughts away. She closed her eyes, reveling in the trail his mouth took on its way back to hers. His large hands pressed her firmly against his body.

_We need to -_

Her brain refused to stay clear. She tried harder to think.

_In case Liam -_

_That_ thought gave her the final courage to pull gently away. She felt him loosen his hold without removing his hands. She met his eyes, expecting a thousand questions.

But the gaze he offered back only gave her one answer.

She panted, pained that they had little time to explore that answer, and whispered, "Alright, let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're officially halfway done with this one! Special thanks to irma66 for checking this for me. This chapter had been extemely difficult to write. I still feel that some details were not fully explored. I hope you could understand the emotions and action I tried to convey!


	7. Sierra Gutierrez

"It's decent enough," she mumbled in response.

Logan smiled, fighting the urge to make some quip about _her_ being the spoiled one now. Her furrowed brow as she stared out the window had him thinking twice.

"It's not the thread count, is it?" He stepped closer behind her as she stayed transfixed at the view of the bedroom window. He chose not to point out the fact that their new condo was a one-bedroom unit with one very large but very solitary bed.

She sighed, hands folded. "Full-length windows aren't exactly as secure as worn wallpaper."

"At least it's thicker?" He offered limply.

She scoffed softly. "There's only one layer of tint."

He nodded, concluding she wasn't exactly in a joking mood.

"If we close the curtains all the time," she continued of her own accord as her left hand flew to the blackout drapes, "it'll still look suspicious."

"It'll look like we're having a lot of sex." He wanted to slap his own mouth the very moment the sentence ended.

She, surprisingly, laughed. "Even then - two months tops and it'll look stupid."

"Even with - "

"Even with you, Logan."

He smiled shyly when she turned around to look at him with a smile of her own. Then he laughed a little. "Too bad we have those pesky things called jobs, huh? No 24-7 honeymoons for Luke and Vanessa."

The comment, meant in jest, cast a dark cloud over her face that replaced her smile with another frown. She sighed loudly. "I'm sorry, I tried."

_Tried?_

He ventured a hand on her shoulder. She didn't pull away. "Hey, what's wrong? I don't think you did anything - "

"The names," she heaved, frown deepening, "they said that's there no proof Liam knew, and I mean with new jobs and a new condo, it's still - "

"Hey, hey, hey," he rushed to comfort her, "no one said we needed new names, right? We're in a new _city_ , Veronica. He's not gonna find us."

"But he did!" Her eyes jump up to meet his. Her usually piercing blue irises looked scattered, flustered. "We were in the middle of _nowhere_ , and he still found us. What's stopping him? He's probably got your phone bugged."

"Not when I have a superagent girlfriend to make sure he doesn't."

Her shoulders relaxed a tiny tad under his hands. He leaned closer. "No one - and I mean _no one_ \- is ever going to hurt either of us, okay? We've been through too much - too much chaos, too much bloodshed."

She perked up at the line, eyes glistening.

"The universe has _got_ to give some time."

* * *

The back of her neck hit the edge of the cushion as she threw back her head. He looked down to meet her eye. Still staring up at him, she heaved a heavy sigh.

"Yeah?" He nudged her shoulder with his knee.

She shrugged.

He gestured at the latest Rose Ceremony playing on the small screen. The old-fashioned tube struck wide contrast against the minimalistic, modern finishings. "Upset he cut the female cop?"

She smiled a little. She poked a thumb towards her chest. "Not a fan of sexism."

"Really? Couldn't tell."

That got her smiling more. "Considering who _insisted_ on decorating this place, I'd bet you're not a fan either."

He chuckled. "We really could use those paintings, you know."

"And get the inspector accusing us of misusing public funds? No thank you." She pushed herself off the carpet and up on the seat beside him. "It ain't that bad, Echolls."

"No, it ain't." He smiled. Heaven knew how much he'd enjoyed the past week. "Besides, chopping vegetables lets me indulge my violent tendencies better than dusting tables."

She laughed, smiling widely. Her hands tucked her feet tightly under her. "Guess I'd take clerkin' over ringing up condoms any day too."

He was suddenly very glad there was no drink in his mouth at the moment. He nodded instead, smiling.

"No more fast-expiring freebies for us, unfortunately." He relaxed against the back of the couch. He turned and smirked at her, weighing his odds. With a blink, he risked it. "I could've used some of those free condoms."

She chuckled brightly, head shaking. "I doubt WITSEC would like their wards screwing around."

"Ah, that's unfortunate." He cocked his head. "Guess we won't be having any threesomes anytime soon."

Veronica made a disgusted face, eyes still glistening, obviously in on the joke. "Impatient, aren't we?"

He frowned. "Impatient?"

"Convince me of the twosome first - _then_ work on the extracurriculars." Her smile, sly and wicked, showed how much she knew her words affected him.

_Goodness, Veronica._

He swallowed whatever fluid he had in his very dry mouth. He looked away, willing away his burgeoning erection.

"Hey."

Her soft voice brought him back. He turned to face her.

"I'm sorry if that was out of line." She looked sincere enough. Her right hand landed on his left knee. "I just - we can take our time, right?"

_If you say so._

He inhaled deeply - and smiled.

"Of course." He placed his left hand over hers. The fact that she wasn't assuming he'd be a man whore at the first opportunity was _huge_. "Not much virtue left to protect here though."

She laughed, genuine and happy, and squeezed his knee. "Right - like _I_ could corrupt you."

"I don't know," he spoke teasingly, "FBI locker rooms _could_ be very educating, I'd imagine."

"More like traumatizing."

"Should I call my therapist for you?"

"Handing me off to someone else already? I _knew_ you had your eyes on Sierra."

"Sierra?"

"Hot Sierra Gutierrez? Receptionist who beams at you each and every time? I'm surprised her eyes don't fall out."

_Jealous?_

He tempered his grin to an acceptable degree. "She's fine - tolerable. But, you know, too dark, too tall, too brunette."

He turned and winked.

She rewarded him with a deep blush and a full lean. "Defensive?"

"Never."

"Tempted?"

"Not a bit."

"Flattered?"

"Only by you."

The smile she offered him drew him closer.

"Besides," he spoke gently, one hand fingering the stray hair around her ears, "can't have you bored around here. _My_ girlfriend deserves one hundred percent of my attention."

"She sounds high maintenance." She leaned forward, inches from his face.

"But totally worth it."

And he pressed his smile against hers.

* * *

"Come on. I swear you'll like it!"

She let him pull her to the kitchen area as he barged forward. She frowned at the huge box.

_Public funds, dude, public funds._

"Went on a shopping spree?" She wandered closer to the island counter once he'd let her wrist go.

"Thought we needed a new hobby - can't have the great Agent Mars bored around here." He was grinning, silly and boyish and excited.

She smiled a little, stepping closer to inspect the box.

_Guess I have been pretty bored._

"Pasta maker?" She read, taken aback.

"The electric type too. No winding the handle till your shoulder dislocates." Still grinning, he started ripping tape and pulling flaps. "Got all the supplies lined up."

Distracted by the new contraption, she only noticed the brown paper bags now - the very, very many paper bags. She pivoted around the island to peek inside. Her eyes grew wide as she felt an unexpected wave of bemusement.

"Are we franchising Luigi's?" She motioned at the endless sacks and trays.

He turned to her, face solemn. "We could if you want to."

_Really?_

She nudged with with a grin. "I'm kidding! Line cook won't become executive chef in a while."

"You doubt my skills?" He gestured sadly, hand to chest, in a move of overacted sorrow.

"Never let be said that I underestimated the multitalented Logan Echolls."

 _That_ earned her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Ah, I knew you were a keeper."

"Gotta prove the Sunset Regent reception wrong, right?"

She'd intended the comment lightly - not expecting the smoldering look he'd send her way in response. The weight of the shared memory, of tears and hugs and genuine _connection_ , suddenly hung about the kitchen like the atmosphere of a stuffy, summer room.

For the past two days, these looks have happened often - too often. She knew what came next.

She knew he'd grab her by the shoulders, and she'd lean in to kiss him. She knew his hands would roam down her back, while hers climbed up his chest. She knew the heat, the passion, and the electricity would build up to a crucial point - before she backed away right before second base.

_Second base. I sound like I'm in high school._

She broke the gaze before he touched her, and he promptly looked away.

_It's not that I don't want to._

She bit her lip. She _knew_ the problem, knew it perfectly well.

Her hands fingered the paper bags absent-mindedly. She knew where all that passion went - where it culminated in physical, mental, and emotional fireworks. She knew what the next round of heated kisses would lead to, and she was perfectly fine with that.

_But how about the morning after?_

How prepared was she to take the plunge across a line she'd never get to retreat from again? And how long would this _connection_ last past Liam Fitzpatrick's arrest?

"Hey."

She turned around, meeting a gaze much more tender, though just as intimate, as before.

"You wanna try this baby out or not?"

She smiled and nodded.

* * *

"By the time we finish rolling these out, I'd be a whittled down to a wisp." She complained, tone teasing. Her supportive stomach growled audibly in agreement. "See what I mean?"

"Good thing they only take five minutes to cook then." The way Logan guarded the machine as it spouted beautiful strands of fettuccine was both endearing and disconcerting. "Hang in there."

"I'll prep the water." She clapped the flour off her hands before heading for the sink.

"Yeah," he muttered casually, eyes trained on the yellow strips.

For a moment, she felt oddly overlooked in favor of pasta.

_Stop with the jealous streak, girl._

She sighed as her hands hit the warm water. She scrubbed the stray pieces of clunky flour off her knuckles. As the one who'd insisted on making three batches in one go, she had no right to complain.

Her eyes flew back to Logan as she dried her hands on the amber-colored towel.

_Then why does this feel so bad?_

If Logan had been choosing for himself, the kitchen contraption of choice wouldn't have been a pasta machine - she knew that much. He'd done it for her; there was no other possibility.

_Then why do I feel - unwanted?_

Her eyes trailed Logan's arms, the perfect blend of general strength and precise control, to the hands he's using to smooth out the next sheet of pasta. She noted how he'd managed to get them to make perfect pasta from the very first try.

Then again, He'd always had talented hands.

_For cooking or otherwise._

She shook her head, dissipating the thought.

"You okay?"

She twitched at the comment, surprised he'd notice her little trance. She offered a small smile a few seconds late. "Yeah."

He cocked his head to the side, face inquisitive. "Sure?"

_Might as well make up something._

She gestured towards his powdered red apron. "Snowing in the fall, huh?"

He gave himself a once-over, then grinned. "You're not doing much better, you know?"

"Yeah, sure." She answered thoughtlessly, only looking down after she's said so. She could feel her cheeks burn - cuz dammit, those handprints sure looked perfect on her waist.

_And to think it'd only been a passing touch._

"My hands snow," Logan joked lamely. "They got a Greek god for that, right? Don't they for everything?"

She scoffed lightly, smiling. "Really? That's your clever comeback?"

"It's better than yours."

_Yeah._

"Yeah," she acknowledged, sighing. Her hands resting together on the counter behind her, she leaned back. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?"

Then he was hovering again, eyes burning into hers. She could feel herself gulping involuntarily. His right hand, still white with flour, flew to her left shoulder. His thumb kneaded gently into her collar.

"What's wrong?" He repeated.

_You? Me? Sexual frustration?_

She sighed loudly, fighting the tears. His hand gripped tighter, though by no means harshly. "Vee?"

She looked up at him. His eyes spelled concern, gentleness, and safety. His towering height made her feel comfort rather than threat.

_Well, this is nice._

"Vee?" He shifted the hand to her jaw. He leaned closer, frowning.

_It's too good, too safe, too certain -_

She gulped, frustrated at her own anxiety.

_You won't get to stay like this forever._

Cuz when the next assignment comes, it's goodbye Vanessa Mason.

"Hey," he whispered.

She met his eyes.

"I don't know what's bothering you. But whatever it is, I'm here, alright? I'm here, right now - and that's what matters, right?"

_He's here, right now._

She gulped.

_Now._

Then just like that, she flung herself into his arms. Her hands hung around his neck as her chest - flour prints and all - pressed against his. He dutifully held her close.

"Vee?"

She hugged him tighter. He understood enough to stop talking.

_Thank you._

Yet despite his cooperation - she didn't feel any better. Giving it up, she pulled back just enough to see his very worried face. He pressed his palm against her cheek, and she leaned into it.

"What's wrong?" He whispered, gentle and true.

"I want you." The words came simply - short, succinct, and powerful.

His pupils dilated, irises grew dark. The hand he had on her back pressed her closer.

"Are you sure?"

He said it so softly she thought she'd imagined it.

"Yes."

Her back hit the bedding within twenty seconds.

* * *

Quite certain he's by himself, he flipped each pancake dramatically - twirling and tossing - before actually plating any of them. The burnt butter smelled particularly good this morning.

"You should ask your boss to let you work in the open kitchen."

He looked up at her unusual greeting. Just a few yards away, she stood with her bath robe tied loosely around her. The sliver of skin that started from her collar and trailed to her ribs indicated just how little she was wearing beneath the towel-like fabric. Her smile at his ogling assured him that he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.

_As if there are any boundaries left to overstep after the past week._

He smiled at the memory of the very first time - at the recollection of her simple offer that had turned into a mutual screamfest for the next two hours.

_Man, I'm getting hard already._

He tried to ignore his genitals in favor of a real conversation. After all, he had much to prove about having more than _one_ marketable skill.

"Considering the close call from Liam last time, I'll pass on the public adoration." He smiled, turning to soak the skillet in soapy water as he spoke. "But hey, thanks for the compliment."

Turning back around to face her, the furrowed brow caught him by surprise. He frowned himself. "What's wrong?"

She sighed a little before shaking her head and sporting a well-rehearsed 'nevermind' smile. He would have none of it.

"Hey, you've been happy these few days. What's wrong?" He maneuvered himself around the counter to stand in front of her.

She looked at him, smiling wryly. "Jumping your bones every single day must mean super bliss, huh?"

He couldn't keep himself from feeling offended.

"I'm kidding! Sorry!" She apologized immediately, hands on his forearms. She waited for him to meet her eye before continuing, "I'm being a jerk - I know. I'm sorry. I just - I'm worried, okay?"

"About what?"

"About - " She stopped, looking down in deep thought.

"Veronica, I told you. We'll get through this together."

_All this assuring is taking its toll._

"I know."

_Thank goodness._

"I'm just worried, you know?" She look back at him, gaze fidgety. "What if Liam finds us again? What if this isn't meant to last? Any form of happiness for us has never lasted - in high school, in college, in - "

"Hey!" He grabbed her by the arms then, willing her to focus, as he kept his tone as gentle as he could. "Superagent girlfriend, remember? We'll be fine. I'm not worried, and you don't have to be."

She licked her lips slowly, the movement at once sexy and tense. "Okay."

"Good." He folded her into his arms and hugged her close. "We'll be fine, okay? We'll be fine."

_Cuz the universe has got to give at some point._

He felt her hands snake around his waist, and his heart warmed.

He buried his nose into her hair, heart full and soul content in a way he'd never imagined he would ever be. Cuz even if they fight over the definition of al dente and argue about a fangirl receptionist who tracks his every move, this is still the most peaceful chapter he's ever had in his young life.

_And I want it to last forever._

No abusive father, yes passionate girlfriend. No nosy paparazzi, yes dedicated partner. No frat boy parties, yes stable kitchen job.

He wanted this to work, with all his heart; and there was _nothing_ he would ever allow to ruin this.

Right?

_Right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story started as a stray idea that grew into a plan for 12 chapters. Let's hope we'll get to the end in one piece! The angst is killing me from the inside. Lots of thanks to irma66 for checking these for me. She saves all readers from weird wording or magically changing outfits, hehe. Since TL is ending soon, I'll be able to focus a tiny tad more on this and VH. Please leave your thoughts!


	8. Santa Claus

"Hey there." The smile in her voice rang clear as day between them as she felt the kiss to her temple. "Early shift?"

"Yeah, dinner's been booked by a guy who's proposing. Management figured they don't need a full staff around to serve two people." Three feet away from where she stood rolling out cookies, Logan dropped down on one of the dining chairs, smiling. The flat was small - cozy - but it was as close to home as they were gonna get.

"Sounds like you missed out on a healthy does of squealing then." She smiled, choosing amongst her limited cookie cutters.

"Don'tcha know it." He grinned, head resting on the arm he'd placed on their little square dining table. "It's not like we need the money."

_We? You, Logan, you._

"Do you even have access to your funds, still?" She moved the first few pieces over to the tray.

"Technically - yes." He shrugged. "It's a lot of paperwork, but we can still get to the money."

"I'm surprised you're still working then. Most people would just travel the world."

"Do you want to?"

She turned to face him, surprised. "Travel the world?"

"Yeah." He jumped up to his feet and leaned over the counter, facing her. "Take a trip, go on a honeymoon?"

"That's for married people, Logan."

"Ah, then maybe we should be."

"Married?"

"Maybe?"

There was something oddly displaced about his gaze - like he was trying too hard to project a certain nonchalance. She cocked her head. "With our aliases?"

"WITSEC subjects can't get married?"

_Well, they can._

"You want to?"

"I'm not saying that," he backpedalled.

"Then don't ask silly questions," she admonished, finally completing her tray. "Now, how about pasta for dinner?"

"Can't get enough of my cooking skills, huh?" He shifted around the counter to join her in the kitchen.

"You need practice!" She exclaimed, laughing. "If we're contributing to the Thanksgiving food bank at all - then yes, we need more than enough of your cooking skills."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy." She winked.

* * *

He snuggled back against the headboard, laptop balanced on top of the pillow on his lap, as he kept an ear open for her shower spray turning off. Lips pressed firmly together, he clicked the link and its promise of easy-to-make recipes, only to find himself revisiting a recipe he'd already learned, tried, and failed.

He sighed.

_Who knew it'd be this hard?_

He navigated back to the main search results. His eyes ran over the options. Ice cube - too messy, baked potato - too unromantic, lobster claw - too risky, and Cracker Jacks - what?

He huffed another frustrated sigh before the telltale click ended the sound of steady, streaming water.

He tossed his head backwards, wanting very much to groan.

_At this rate, I'll end up with the ring in a champagne class - the cliché of clichés._

And something inside him told him she wouldn't appreciate that.

"Hey, something up?" She appeared at the bathroom doorway, the scent of her shampoo dispersing throughout the cozy room. She ran a towelled hand up her still-damp hair. "You look - consternated."

"Big words day, huh?" He smiled, fingers fumbling to close his windows as discreetly as possible. He shoved his laptop aside. "Well, you look - tantalizing."

"Ha, then you look unperturbed."

"Takes every bit of willpower, trust me." He grinned.

Like she always did these days, she smiled back and drifted over.

"Nice to have a Saturday off, huh?" She sat down on the bed beside him, shuffling a little to make room against his long legs.

"Yeah." He squeezed her hand. "Won't have another day free until Christmas."

"Alas, the life of a world-famous chef."

"Or a fugitive."

She seemed to catch the half-truth in his joke as she squeezed his hand back.

"You - unhappy?" Came her unexpected question.

"What? No!" He instantly pushed closer to her and lifted a hand to her jaw. "How could you say that? Are you?"

"Am I saying that? Yes. Am I unhappy?" She smiled softly at him. "Of course not. These have been the most serene months in my life - like, ever. And I - I guess I'm getting used to it?"

He only had time to offer a sad smile before he crushed her into his arms. He pressed his nose against her hair. "We'll be fine, you know?"

Her hands snaked around his back in answer.

His imagination immediately told him how much more assuring that gesture would feel with a solid ring on her left ring finger. He inhaled. "Can't wait to show you your Christmas present."

* * *

"Do we really need _all_ of this?" Her voice was endearingly whiny as she balanced her two paper bags.

"The recipe says it's good for two - so I tripled it." He grinned, face hovering over his share of the load. After another two seconds of watching her awkward shuffling, he eased both bags on his left arm and grabbed one of hers.

"Hey! I could carry that!"

"I'm just helping." He smiled, trading his new bag with an old one to distribute the weight evenly. "Wouldn't want to be accused of child labor."

"I am a strong 21st century woman who can do everything herself." She switched to her activist voice and instant frowny-face. "I do not need a man's help."

"But passersby won't know that, would they?" He strode on down the gravel path, bare trees around them, as her shorter legs exerted an impressive effort of keeping up.

_Guess I'm more excited than I thought._

"Seriously, give it back!" She hollered, half-reaching and half-jumping for the bag he'd confiscated.

He turned his body the other way, thwarting her efforts, grateful she wasn't wearing her high-heeled boots. "Gentlemen are a dying breed. You should be thankful."

"A true gentleman would respect his woman's wishes," she protested, still reaching, as they neared the edge of the block.

He felt a familiar warmth spread in his chest despite the bleak weather. Turning back towards her, he smiled. " _My_ woman?"

She blushed and seemingly struggled against a smile.

"Not very feminist now, are we?" He grinned wider as their feet left soft soil and hit the sidewalk. He raised a brow.

She tucked her neck into her scarf. "Whatever."

_But I know I've won._

She looked intentionally unaffected as she checked out the traffic, left and right. He smiled at the thought of reaching home - even if it's just the lobby - only a couple of blocks further.

_Can't wait to start baking._

Cuz if he can't enclose a real ring, he'd at least try to make the impression of one.

"Hey."

He looked up to see her already a few feet ahead, staring back at him from her spot in the middle of the road. Her quizzical expression had him looking up to see the green light.

_I'm so out of it._

With an apologetic grin, he paced forward, ready to join her - when the screeching sounds had him turning.

Less than ten yards away, the van sped straight towards them. He heard Veronica's gasp, saw the glaring headlights, and shoved them immediately towards the other side.

Two seconds later, one bag of groceries spilled artlessly over the sidewalk, as the van finally pulled to a stop - over the place where she'd been standing.

"Hey! You guys okay?" The driver, cap and all, shouted over the arm he'd draped over the open window.

Logan frowned, disturbed, as he pulled Veronica to her feet beside him.

"Yeah," he yelled back.

But he sure didn't think they were.

* * *

"You okay?"

If her wrist wasn't hurting this much, she would've snarked about how he asked that almost every other hour ever since they'd changed safe houses.

"I'm fine." She smiled a little, hand pressed to her wrist. Her mind scrambled to convince herself that there was nothing out of the ordinary about that almost-accident.

After all, they'd had so many weeks - months, even - of peace by now.

_No reason for Liam to act now._

Her brows knitted into a frown as she recalled her conversation with Clark last night. Sure, he'd assured her everything was fine. When didn't he?

_But he still sounded agitated._

Because regular, weekly calls provided enough of the mundane to highlight any variance.

She scrunched her face tighter, her legs carrying her as fast as they could next to Logan's generous strides. If someone wanted to hurt them, it probably had to do with Liam. And if Liam was on the loose, Clark was obligated to tell her. The fact that he hadn't brought her more doubt than assurance.

"Hey."

She felt Logan's fingers prying her fingers off from the throbbing pain. She looked up, suddenly noticing that they were at the last pedestrian crossing before the security of their lobby. Flirty Sierra or not - she'd take it.

"Don't press it too hard, it'll hurt more." His voice, and eyes, brimmed of gentleness. Despite the desolate wintry weather, she felt unusually warm.

_What's a California girl to do when facing a Northeast winter?_

Logan gripped her hand between his own, massaging it gently. Less groceries meant freer hands.

She smiled up at him.

_Solution: Bring a California boy._

The cars screeched to a stop. Breathing sharply, they made sure that the lights turned green for them before dodging across the street. Then holding hands tightly, they sprinted forward with the best balance of speed and inconspicuousness that they could manage.

One step, two steps - half a dozen steps.

For a split second, she pictured the opposite sidewalk as a finish line - complete with cheap ribbon and cheering spectators. If they could only get across, they'd be safe. They would be home and together and -

The sharp cry Logan emitted had her dropping the remaining bag from her hurting arm. She spun around. He lay face down on the ground, hands in front of him - barely having broken his fall. The front half of his scarf, jacket, and jeans all dipped into the snow. She sprung to his side.

"Logan!"

_To hell with the whole 'Luke' charade._

Their limited neighborly interactions had offered very little practice, after all.

She helped him get back up on his feet. He'd bruise, she was sure, but at least nothing was broken.

"You okay?" It was her turn to ask.

Beyond his frowning face, the reckless skateboarders skidded onwards - without a single apology.

_Who even skates in this weather?_

His words felt hollow in the cold and shock. "I hope so."

_We both do._

* * *

The sensation of warm, comforting fingers rubbing circles on her shoulders started her out from her thoughts. It took her two seconds to rediscover her presence of mind.

When she did - eyes trained on the window, feet burning into the carpet - she could practically sense the question on his mind.

She pre-empted him with a reply. "Clark said he's still in prison."

A 90-degree look behind her showed her a nodding Logan. His solemn face felt mismatched with his gentle, massaging motions.

"It was probably an accident." She knew she sounded unconvincing.

_Heck - I'm not convinced._

"Two accidents," he corrected.

"Right."

She faced the front again, indulging herself for a few quiet seconds under Logan's soothing motions. Then, eyes closed, her mind wandered.

_Because everything sounds right and wrong at the same time._

Clark might be a horrible contact - but he was her only one. Without valid complaints, she had no way of requesting another. And without answering to him, they would be instantly labelled as fugitives.

Fugitives - from the law.

_Hello, Edward Snowden._

She couldn't help momentarily wondering if asylum in Russia was all that bad. The quick realization that they were not international, political, whistleblower celebrities, however, quickly shut off that train of thought.

"Hey, relax." Logan's voice whispered by her ear.

She opened her eyes.

_What?_

He intuited her question. "Your hands."

She looked down at the clue. Dropped on the sofa beside her knees, her hands lay open and relaxed - but the fingernail marks on her palm implied how long her fingers had been clenched. Between them, her wrist was the fourth injury they've sustained between them since the summer - and her gut feeling told her there was more coming.

"Vee?"

She looked up at him. His gaze was deep, gentle.

_If this is how he looks at me when I'm injured..._

She felt him pick up her wrist before cradling it between his hands. "Does it hurt?"

Her eyes traced his worried features as he fussed over the painful joint. His soft touch left little trails of a tingling sensation across her skin. She couldn't help lamenting that if their lives hadn't been in danger, this would be one of the most erotic experiences she's had with him yet.

She watched his lips kiss her wrist softly before he met her eyes again.

_I could fall forever in -_

A lump caught in her throat - because, seriously - when would they _ever_ not be in danger? If that's a condition for her ever being happy - then she might as well resign herself to a life of depression. Amidst the absurd encounters and brushes with possible hospitalization, there was little room for peace.

_Unless embracing this absurdity is the only way to make it?_

The thought had her abruptly retrieving her wrist. Logan gazed down at her, bewildered.

For a handful of seconds, she contemplated how peaceful and happy her past months had been - how unexpectedly welcome the stillness happened to be. Then the sight of his questioning eyes reminded her of his concern. And his concern, in turn, reminded her of his love - and her love.

_Our love._

She launched herself into his arms, her lips against his mouth.

* * *

In every single universe - regardless of time, space, age, or name - when Veronica Mars kissed Logan Echolls, it was his sworn duty to kiss her back.

His hands found her lower back, pressing her close, as her hands snapped into place around his neck as fast as a pair of opposing magnets. Her every curve pressed against him, her tongue parted his lips. His left arm lowered her against the cushions; his right hand glided from her hip to her thigh. Her knees climbed around him in instinctive response, her ankles hooking behind him.

He's instantly as hard as a rock - but going by the way she thrusted against him, she heartily approved.

_Adrenaline sex - I can do that._

He attacked her mouth with renewed enthusiasm when her head hit the sofa, her entire body stretched beneath his. Her hands were running up and down his back as she pressed her own chest into his. Her thigh rubbed back and forth on his bulge, and he suddenly realized his pants were three sizes too small.

He shifted his hands beneath her arms to shove her up against the cushions.

_Cuz I want to see her when we do it._

She knew he was a romantic. Doggy-style had its purposes, but he much preferred a visual connection most of the time. Who was on top didn't matter.

A few familiar maneuvers, with extra care to avoid her wrist, had them both tossing their shirts. His face found her cleavage.

_She's filled out well._

They had come a long way from stolen peeks at her junior high bumps. Hands braced on both sides of her, he ground against her fast-warming center. She whimpered readily before responding with a grind of her own.

The tension almost undid him, and his right foot dropped to the carpet in support. His hands wandered down her torso, his lips -

"Lo?"

He stopped when she stopped, his body still hovering above hers. He met her eyes. She used her eyes to point at something on the carpet.

_What?_

He overcame his impatience and spared the spot a glance.

He gulped.

In retrospect, he really should have noticed something that significant falling out of his pocket. But he didn't - so she scrambled out from under him to go pick it up. He pulled back obligingly, feeling far too lost to stop her.

Her hands found the ring, lifting it gingerly. He could feel his ribs tightening around his lungs.

_I can explain._

He gulped again.

_It's not what it looks like._

He tentatively met her eyes. He _knew_ he couldn't hide the fact that things were _exactly_ what they looked like.

He held his breath as her hand found his wrist - and he almost blacked out before he heard the single word she blurted.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is patiently waiting for updates to this story. Life's been very demanding. I'm glad you're still here! Big thanks to irma66 for being a faithful reader and beta. I hope you guys liked this chapter! Leave a comment!


	9. Norman Randall

"Motifs, designs, themes, prints, ugh!" She collapsed on the sofa in a pile of frustration. "I thought he would _never_ shut up."

She barely noticed how gingerly Logan perched himself on the coffee table across her. His fingers locked; he looked - fidgety. "Well, we could always - cancel."

"Huh?"

_What?_

He looked up at her, schmoopy and sad. "The wedding?"

"What? No!" She sat up, scrambling. "That's not what I meant."

"Ah," he said simply. His eyes looked a little less forlorn.

"It's not about whether or not we get married, Lo." She leaned forward to grab his hands. "I just - don't like the actual _wedding._ We know, like, _twenty_ people in this entire area - why do we even need a big wedding? In my opinion, we'll just head to the city hall and be done with it."

"Ah, but then we wouldn't have met Norman, would we?" His voice had resumed its usual lighter lilt.

She smiled. "And miss his flamboyant charm? Never."

Logan finally laughed a little. "Sorry about getting us an official wedding planner. I mean - I'd always presumed that if we get married, we would - "

He stopped himself short. She squeezes his hands in response. "Yeah, I know. Logan Echolls and his wedding of the century. It's only expected."

"Sorry." He looked down.

"Don't be." She nudged him, prompting him to meet her eye again. "It's an act of sacrifice for you to get into the program - and it can't be helped if some of Logan Echolls is still in that Luke brain of yours."

He smiled as she tapped his forehead with her index finger. "Sorry."

"Don't be - really." She gripped both his hands in her own. She leaned forward, mere inches away from his face. "I never said it's anything bad."

"Really? Could've sworn there was weeping and great sorrow when we got home just - ouch!" He held a hand over the spot where she'd swatted him.

" _That's_ for pushing it, mister."

"Guess we know who's going to wear the pants in the marriage."

"Oh yeah?" She leaned back, hand on her chin in a faux thinking pose. "Let's see - nobody?"

His gaze dropped hungrily to where her free hand was sliding her hemline up her thigh.

"I know you aren't," he practically growled. Then he looked up at her face again. "But let's do something about me."

She held her hands up, open and ready. He plucked her readily off the couch and deposited her on the bed sans clothes in no time.

* * *

"If you ever - need - another - job," she panted, hands open on the bed beside her. The chill of the AC was cooling her off at a very insufficient pace. "You should - totally - go pro."

The smile on his face told her he knew exactly what she's throwing back to. She turned over on her side to face him, her hands stroked up and down his bare chest instinctively. "I'm not kidding, you know."

"As long as you're my only client?" He looked down, sweet and boyish, as his fingers found hers. He pressed a kiss on her forehead. "I will _not_ have my PI wife catching me cheating."

"So as long as I don't catch you - "

"No!" He instantly protested, springing up. He propped himself up to a seated position before grabbing her hands again. "Veronica, you have to know, I would never - "

"I know." She smiled up at him. Why she was trusting him this much was a total mystery to her.

_But I'm sick of doubting every single thing in my life._

Unless it was Marshall Clark, of course - she _still_ didn't believe in his competence.

"What's wrong?"

She felt Logan's fingers wiping at the creases in her brow.

_Oh._

"Sorry - just, thinking."

"About the wedding?"

_Guess I could._

She put on a small smile. "I don't mind a big wedding if you want one."

"And I'm fine with city hall."

The simple way he said that warmed her heart. She pulled his hand against her chest. "You feel that? That's a heart beating for you, Lo. It doesn't matter where we get married - as long as we mean it, right?"

He looked hesitant for a short second before he smiled. "Of course - and I mean it, with all my heart, Vee."

"So do I."

Logan smiled again before he threw his head back against the headboard.

_He doesn't believe me._

And the thought stung more than she thought it would. It's not like she'd given him any reason to over the years - but, hey, it still hurt.

"Are you sure you don't want the streamers and the flowers and the bridesmaid dresses?" She pulled herself up to sit beside him. There was something oddly intimate about their current positions - two breathless, naked creatures sitting quietly next to each other in bed. She felt closer to him than when they were touching.

His voice came as a reassuring relief. "It's all about the bride, you know."

"Bride?"

"The flowers, the bridesmaids, the fanfare of it all - it's just to make the bride feel special."

"And if the bride actually _really_ wants jeans and sports shirts and city hall?"

"Then so it is." He turned to look at her at last.

_At least he actually looks happy now._

She lifted a hand to his jaw. "I love you, Logan."

He smiled - for real. "I love you, Veronica."

She leaned in for a kiss.

"And at least I know ya don't want me for my money," he quipped before their lips met.

"What?" She pulled back a little, hands on his chest.

"Most girls would throw themselves at a guy for much less than a giant wedding."

She laughed. "Really? _That's_ how you conclude I'm not a gold-digger?"

"And how else should I?"

"I dunno. Maybe by giving her a gigantic diamond ring?"

"Biggest I could find." He grinned, smug. "Hey, if you wanted a solitaire - "

"Damn biggest you could find - I know, I know." She laughed. Then she pulled her left hand up between them. "Do you even _know_ how conspicuous this thing looks?

"And what's wrong with declaring my undying love?"

"Money, dude!" She leaned closer, laughing. "Imagine what the boss would say if they thought _this_ is where witsec funds go."

"Whatever. It's my money." He kissed her.

"You still have access?"

"Told you I did."

"I thought you were joking."

"Not about diamonds, I don't." He smiled. "And if Clark asks you why I suddenly retrieved half my funds, tell him it's all Norman's fault. _He_ 's the one who wanted us to have a big wedding."

"Ah, the poor guy would be _so_ disappointed. Maybe, for his sake, we _should_ have a big wedding, after all."

"Whatever my wife says." He stole another kiss.

"Not yet!"

"Soon." He grinned.

* * *

There was something particularly sweet about sleep after a good, healthy bout of sex. His sleep was so deep, in fact, that it took him three rounds of shaking his head like a dog with fleas before his mind was clear enough to register his surroundings.

Sure enough, the bed was soft, the room dark, and the air chilly. The only thing unusual - was that crack of light on the edge of their bedroom door.

He frowned as his hand instinctively wandered over her side of the bed. His fingers touched empty, rumpled sheets - and while he knew why they were rumpled, he had to know why they were empty.

He pushed himself out of bed, taking a second to find his balance against the groggy fog. Paranoia aside, he knew they were in WITSEC, and that fact alone made them prime targets for danger.

_Can never be too careful._

He wandered towards the crack of warm, yellow light. Except for work, they were almost always in each other's company. The fact that she was outside by herself in the middle of a warm, happy night implied pretty strong insomnia. He placed his hands on the edge of the door, ready to pry it open.

"Come on, Clark. It's not that hard, and you know it." Beside their kitchen counter, she was pacing back and forth perpendicularly from his line of sight, phone pressed firmly against her ear. The edge of her pajamas sniffled against the tiled floor. "I won't take 'no' for an answer."

He stole a peek at the mantle clock.

_Why three in the morning?_

For the most part, Veronica took her check-up calls during breakfast.

"Look, I really, really want this, okay?" Five yards away, his fiancée was barking into her phone. "I _need_ this. Do your hocus-pocus and make it happen."

He could easily imagine what Clark was saying to deepen that frown on Veronica's face. He of all people should know how _no one_ could ever deny her what she wanted.

"Do the paperwork, that's fine. I can wait."

But what was it that she wanted this time?

"Ugh, why are you even asking that? It should be _pretty obvious_ I don't want to be here anymore."

_What?_

He leaned forward, heart heavy with both the guilt of eavesdropping and the desperation to know what she meant.

He heard every word loud and clear.

"I'm sick of being Vanessa Mason. Just - get me out of here."

* * *

"Ah - they're extra fluffy today." She smiled, fork in hand, with her elbow planted on the dining table. Her mouth moved joyously as it chewed her latest bite of homemade pancakes. "Guess whose wife is never going hungry?"

Joyous as she looked - he couldn't force himself to feel the same way.

He smiled back mirthlessly. "I knew you'd like them."

She beamed back at him before looking down to attack the next piece on her stack.

He tried to limit the volume of his sigh. His hands gripped the table's edge a little tighter.

_How do I even say this?_

He couldn't accuse her of not loving him, or even marrying him. She'd insisted on those facts just the night before.

_But what's so bad about being stuck here with me?_

He gulped, hand reaching for his milk. He knew he was frowning ostensibly, but he just couldn't help it.

"Pass me the syrup?" Her voice cut through his thoughts.

He looked up, mouth still parched. She was smiling at him, the picture of ease. Why she could sound so nonchalant about breakfast is the biggest insult of all.

"Get it yourself," he snapped without thinking and took off from his seat.

"Lo?"

He huffed a very heavy sigh at the endearment. Sure, she could call him short forms of his name all she wanted.

_But it doesn't change the fact that you don't want to be with Luke._

He ignored the burgeoning thought that maybe _he_ didn't want to be Luke either.

"Logan, what's wrong?" Her voice teetered between gentle and firm. She pushed herself away from the table. "Logan?"

"You don't want to be here," he muttered lowly, his back to her.

"What?" She walked closer.

"You don't - you don't want to be here," he repeated bitterly, louder this time.

"Why would you say that?" She sounded - annoyed.

"I know, okay?" He spun around, irate in his pain. "I know you don't want to be here with me."

"That's not true," she denied point-blank. Her hands fly to her hips. "I _do_ want this."

"Oh really?" He struggled momentously to keep the pain from showing in his voice, but it still shook a little. "Then why were you asking Clark to transfer you?"

She looked back at him, dumbfounded. He was tempted to feel minor satisfaction from hitting a nerve - but his actual feelings were hollow and raw. His eyes stung.

"I heard you last night," he found himself explaining. "I thought you had insomnia again and I wanted to help you but I just heard - you asking him."

The thoughts hung heavily between them as they stared down each other. Neither said another word - until she did. "I love you - and I'm not leaving you, Lo."

He hung his head for a bit before looking back up at her.

"What I was asking from Clark - " She sighed loudly before continuing, "that was just - another way to let us happen?"

_Us?_

"Us?" His own voice sounded small to him. He suddenly felt a tiny tad juvenile.

"If I leave this nightmare - you're leaving too, okay? We're in this together."

He knew he should feel assured, but her calling their engaged life a _nightmare_ sounded a tad too painful.

"You're not leaving me?" He hated how immature he sounded.

"No, I'm not."

_You're just not happy here._

"Cool," he mumbled. "That's - good to know."

She smiled sadly at him before stepping up to give him a hug. He hugged her back softly.

"For the record, I am perfectly okay with how we're living now," she mumbled into his T-shirt. "I'm not trying to make this go away."

_That's good._

"I know I was born for something greater than this, you know?" She continued, to his dismay. "But I guess - this will have to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt 'thank you!' to everyone who has been encouraging me about this story. Your comments help me endlessly! When I need inspiration, I go back to reading your words...and they allow mine to flow. A big thank you to my faithful, helpful beta irma66. All these chapters will take a lot more time if it weren't for her! Sorry for the angst here. It's necessary for the next turn of page. Please leave your thoughts!


	10. Megan Choi

"I'll just need you to sign here, and here, and here." The lady leaned over her desk, fountain pen tip pointing at blanks all over the top sheet. She looked oddly off-balance, feet anchored behind the giant wood spread and blazered torso hovering over the surface of the desk. Considering how easily she held up the foot-high stack of documents, she probably had more upper-body strength than he did.

_Gotta start working out soon._

He smiled politely. "We can sit down."

The lady, straight black hair grazing her jaw, nodded gratefully. She set the pile down and slipped into her chair.

"We'll take good care of your money," she promised confidently, swiveling side to side in a 45-degree arc, pen in the air. "Clients have praised our indicative rates for decades."

"Right," he acknowledged, hands flipping the pages carefully, scanning thoroughly for every neon yellow 'sign-here' sticky note.

_Miss one spot - come here again._

Considering the conspicuous display of those giant, glass front doors - he'd rather not.

"Do you want some coffee?" Megan Choi, world's most classy female personal banker, leaned forward slightly. "I'll have my assistant get some."

"No, thanks. I'm good." Logan swallowed and put on that small, polite smile again.

_The less fuss we make the better._

Of course, he couldn't blame the bank for treating them like VIPs. It wasn't everyday that someone would try to invest three million dollars - in _cash_.

_Big wedding._

He shrugged at his own thought. If Veronica didn't want a lavish ceremony, then he wasn't about to let that kind of money go stale. Being born rich meant being taught how to stay rich.

"And you, Mrs. Erickson?"

 _Mrs. Echolls_.

He couldn't help smiling a little. The world may never know - but he knew she knew exactly whom she was marrying.

"Ms. Mason, actually," Veronica corrected the woman. She smiled - also politely, he could tell - and added, "And I would actually love a cup of Blue Mountain."

Megan nodded, raising her hands to her intercom.

"Actually, I'm really picky with my coffee," Veronica stopped her, 'Amber' smile in full effect. "Could you be so kind as to get it for me? Black and freshly brewed, please."

Megan was obviously pissed - but held it in anyway. "Very well."

And she was out the room.

"You told her we were _married_?" Veronica whispered the very moment the door clicked shut.

_That's what she's upset about?_

He tried to appear unaffected. "Does it matter? We're going to be - aren't we?"

She didn't answer.

He itched, ready to spring from his chair.

What was the point of saving all this money if he would never have someone to share a life with?

"Just - nothing," she mumbled under her breath.

"Huh?" He looked at her.

"I just - I always thought I'd never get married. I thought the idea was - well, weak. It's romantic, sure, but it's also - " She sighed. Then she met his eye. "I always thought I'll just be Veronica Mars for life."

She didn't really make sense. He didn't say much, his mind and heart pre-occupied.

"Logan, I've sensed something off for the past two days. Is everything okay?"

_No - because you want to leave me._

"Everything's fine," he muttered just as Megan pranced in with Veronica's coffee. He didn't spare a single glance at his fiancée for the rest of their time at the bank.

* * *

She heard the door click shut - followed by his signature sigh.

She smiled, opening the oven just in time. "Hey, snookums, ready for Lasagna night?"

She'd worked extra hard at the pasta machine today. Thank God lasagna only required full sheets. The face that met hers when she turned, however, did not look grateful _at all_.

"Hey." She slipped the piping hot casserole on the counter before skipping around to walk closer to him. "What's wrong?"

He looked at her quietly, half-confused and half-pained. His hands stayed firmly by his side, not even remotely hinting at the possibility of his usual welcome home kissing session.

"Lo?"

Sure, the bank had been a nervous visit - but it had been productive, at least. It didn't seem like anyone followed them, and there had been limited conflict other than Megan's petty annoyance at playing intern. It had gone so uneventfully that Logan declared himself able to work after they came back. She was the one with a day job. Chef's hours had kept him away from home until now.

"Logan?" She reached for his arm.

He flinched back. "What's wrong with Mrs. Erickson?"

_What?_

"Who's Mrs. Erickson?"

The way his face grew dark told her that was the totally wrong thing to say. His words came out sharp, angry, "Why even bother pretending you want to marry me, Veronica? It's obvious you want out."

_What now?_

She stepped forward, standing inches away from him. "What are you talking about?"

"You. Mrs. Erickson. Leaving. Whatever." He stormed over to the sofa, dropping down like an old, tired soldier.

She frowned, thinking. Then she cocked her head. "Is this about this morning? When I corrected the banker? I just didn't want to come across as a gold-digger, you know."

"Yeah, sure, that's why," he threw back at her.

"It's true!" It was her turn to march over, hands on her hips. "Why would you think it's anything else?"

"I dunno - maybe I've just been too blind to see the signs."

"Signs?"

"You know." He shrugged. "Like someone saying she doesn't want to be Vanessa Mason, and _then_ saying she prefers it over Mrs. Erickson."

For a moment, she really wanted to slap him.

"Grow a pair, Lo. I'm not leaving you." She rolled her eyes and marched back towards the kitchen.

"Ah, she walks out - classic."

She stopped at the sarcasm, eyes stinging.

_What's wrong with him?_

She threw her head back, talking upwards with her back to him. "Did you really think I'd still be here if I didn't want to be?"

"Thought you were forced," he mumbled.

_Is he drunk?_

Logan had stayed so sober since they'd met again that she had no idea what kind of drunk he was these days. She spun around and strode back. "You underestimate yourself, Lo. Why would I say 'yes' if I didn't mean it?"

"I thought you did." He looked up at her, eyes glassy and face red. So he _had_ been drinking. "Did you?"

"Of course." Frustration and genuine sadness almost overtook her. "Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged, still frowning. "You said you'd always be Veronica Mars. And, believe me, to me you are. But - but what if that's not enough? What if you want - more?"

He struggled to his feet; she looked up at the face on top of his staggering form.

"You're born for something bigger than this, Veronica - something bigger than me. I can't expect you to actually _love_ me. I mean - "

Her hand flew to his face before she could stop herself. The slap sounded loud, strong, and painful. He stared down, shocked. She fought her tears. "You can't take every word I say and twist it wrong, Lo. It's not gonna work this way."

"Vero - "

"I _do_ love you, jackass." Her breathing was short, distressed. "But if you refuse to let yourself believe it - then nothing's gonna come of this. _Nothing_."

He stared at her - face wavering between elation and disbelief. She waited him out.

"Could we get married tomorrow?" His next sentence came out of nowhere.

"What?"

He wasn't about to accept momentary confusion for an answer, apparently, since he just frowned, mumbled incoherently about taking a walk, and rushed out the door.

_And I thought that was my move._

* * *

The bare trees that looked so dainty and interesting days ago now felt completely menacing. He shrunk his neck to keep more skin covered by his upturned collar. That's the problem with diva fits - you're never really prepared for the aftermath.

He huffed, lungs cold, and kept walking aimlessly.

It wasn't that he didn't believe her - he knew she was genuine in this whole engagement thing.

_But not about the wedding._

What kind of serious bride would want to get things over at city hall? In saner moments, he'd be able to assure himself that it was just a personality thing.

But now, tired and hurt and confused, he carried a mind full of irrational theories.

What if she said yes because she's bored? What if she wanted out of the program to get rid of him? What if this? What if that?

_Ugh, I sound like a girl._

Not that there was anything wrong with men being emotional - but he felt like a hormonal college girl at the moment, head and heart full of things he _knew_ to be false and yet _felt_ very true.

"Oomph!"

He apologized gruffly as the other man, bundled in a coat, scurried away. This barren Northeast winter was gonna be the death of him yet.

He stumbled onwards, not really caring where he was headed. He just need to get away - to order these thoughts and feelings. He needed to think. He needed to mourn. He needed to -

The sound of a crisp, broken branch behind him stopped him in his tracks.

He looked left and right. The night was still - harsh and lonely. He turned around slowly.

Is that a man hiding behind a tree?

He moved - and the shadow moved too.

_What?_

The shadow shuffled before it melted into the tree's silhouette. Then everything grew eerily still.

He gulped. This felt awfully familiar - particularly from senior year. And when he's on the verge of town - this far away from the hustle and bustle, then he was in big, big trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep, heartfelt thanks to irma66, who takes time to help me despite her own busy writing schedule. If I can be half the friend and beta she is, this fandom would get a lot more stories more often. Thanks for reading! :)


	11. Danny Boyd

_'Could we get married tomorrow?'_

She shook her head violently, exasperated and hurt. How could he - seriously, he used to be way more thick-skinned than this. Had their interactions in the past month meant nothing to him?

She glared at the lasagna on the counter, an emblem of her blindness. How did she _not_ see this coming? All she wanted was for them to be safe - alone and hitched and being who they're supposed to be. Was that so hard?

She forced her eyes off the baking tray, because this fixation was definitely unhealthy, and looked around the empty apartment. From the moment she flew away from Neptune, she had always longed to be alone. She was alone on the plane, alone at Quantico, and alone in every living space beyond that. She had enjoyed the liberty, the limited accountability. Being alone felt wonderful.

_Until he came along._

She sniffed, holding back on the threatening tears. One wrong step had her sent into WITSEC duty. Then another stroke of fate had sent him to be her ward. She hated it for the first ten minutes - but who knew it would have grown into something so much bigger?

_But he doesn't realize that._

She had known, of course, she always did. She understood that his insecurities were rooted deep in this strange relationship foundation. Who married their wards? What if she suddenly had another assignment? She knew where he was coming from.

Groaning, she drove a fist into the cushions.

She'd known - and she had been trying to fix it. But between knowing and fixing, her emotional fiancé had decided she didn't care.

_What a loser._

She waved her thoughts away, guilt-ridden. He may have doubted her intentions for the transfer - but she had sure kept quiet about them too.

She threw back her head, now-shoulder-length hair spread all over the back of the sofa. Vanessa Mason, Vanessa Erickson - she didn't want to be any of that. Those aliases sucked.

She exhaled.

_I want to be Veronica Mars._

She blinked, fast and hard.

_But I wouldn't have minded adding 'Echolls' after that._

The realization that maybe _that_ was the missing piece in their puzzle comforted her somewhat. She'd wait until he came back from his diva fit - and they'd talk it out, for real.

A loud thump emanated from her front door.

_Logan?_

She rolled off the couch and rushed towards their miniature foyer, turning the corner ungracefully. The doorknob rattled with an obvious effort to pry it open.

_He must be really, really drunk._

She tucked away her annoyance for later - and she swung the door open, to a huge slab of muscle. The panic instantly surged from her stomach to her chest to her throat.

_Nope, definitely not him._

She barely had time to duck the first punch.

* * *

The menacing trees and their bare, dark branches interlaced into a wooden web in the hardly-lit park. He leaned back against his chosen tree trunk, hoping his light brown jacket magically morphed into a darker hue.

He waited. He listened.

Maybe being raised a celebrity child wasn't _all_ bad. He smirked, still pulling close against the bark. Paparazzi-dodging tricks had come in handy more than once in his life.

_Unfortunately._

He kept his sigh quiet. Sure, he'd played his most immature card and threw himself out without talking things through.

_Talking - the best and worst thing in a long-term relationship._

He breathed in, slowly, before exhaling just as coolly. He didn't mean the marrying tomorrow part - that was said in anger. He wouldn't mind it - no, of course not.

_But I shouldn't have thrown it in her face either._

He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. He thought he'd come a long way - but real life demanded that he go even farther than that.

_If I want any chance of making this work._

And he did - truly, wholeheartedly did. He'd gone almost a decade without Veronica in his life, and he would very much not want to repeat that.

He smirked again. That's why he proposed, wasn't it? It was the most permanent way they could be bound to each other, outside of divorce, anyway. But he'd never ask for a pre-nup; he was grateful she didn't either.

The telltale footsteps of a heavyset man drew closer.

He inhaled.

_This is it._

Sure, he'd charged out of the house like a hormonal teenager. That was his fault.

_And I'd very much like a chance to make up for it._

If he didn't have the chance to do that - it would be this guy's fault. And he absolutely couldn't let it happen.

His left hand gripped his taser tighter. His right hand, bristles notwithstanding, curled around the rough tree branch he'd pick up just now. Between them, Veronica had convinced him to keep their only gun in the bedroom - only for domestic defense. It was a good idea that he couldn't quite be thankful for right now.

The footsteps stopped. The sound of a pebble being crushed echoed in the darkness.

"I lost him," the guy mumbled into what must be his phone. The Californian accent sounded achingly familiar and oddly misplaced all at once.

_Liam - Liam Fitzpatrick._

He breathed in. Who else was in on this with him? What were they after?

Revenge, of course, he grinned. Why would it be anything else?

"I'll look around some more," Liam was saying.

Logan fought to pace his breathing as the footsteps recommenced, this time growing nearer and nearer to his hiding place.

_Just a little more._

His stalker paused right beside his tree. He felt very much like being sniffed out by a dog.

_Maybe they will once I'm dead._

He tried not to let the thought bother him.

"Hey," Liam was saying into his phone again, "I don't think - "

He brought the tree branch down right behind the neck, forcing his bulky hunter to roll to the ground. His taser, in all its sparkling glory, touched flesh within seconds.

Three horrendous groans and thwarted punches later - the man lay limply at his feet. He panted, ill-acquainted with violence for the last five years.

_But this is Liam Fitzpatrick._

That was someone completely worth coming out of retirement for.

Carefully, Logan kicked the moaning figure till it faced down in the shallow snow. He lowered his right knee against Liam's back, his hands balancing the branch tightly across his upper shoulders. The man would stay still for a while.

"What do you want, Liam?" He cried harshly. The man kept moaning. "You guys hurt Trina. You can't expect me to have done anything less."

The pile of muscle, subdued by electricity, tried to struggle out beneath him. Logan pressed down harder.

"How did you find me?" He continued mustering the Aaron Echolls action hero genes. It's possible. "What do you want?"

With a heavy, deliberate groan, Liam turned his head around to face him.

_No._

The aggressor grinned.

_No - this is wrong. No._

"Ya want Liam, kid?" The man growled, half-smirking. "Ask your girlfriend. You ain't the one we after."

Right, 'cause this isn't Liam. It's all 200 pounds of his cousin Danny. Alarm threaded his every nerve, and he pressed down harder.

Danny groaned again. "Look - you got nothin' to offer us, kid. Sierra's kept an eye on you plenty."

_Sierra - right._

"It's just money we want, alright?" Danny's words sounded strained, his lungs against the ground and all. "You get the bucks from the bank - and we're good."

"It's not your money." Logan found his tongue again, voice coarse and uncertain. "Why should we give you anything?"

"Ah, she don't tell you, did she?" Danny sounded borderline maniacal. "But it _is_ our money - and we're gonna get our dues."

* * *

It took every last bit of her Quantico training to keep her from passing out.

_Logan's coming. He's coming._

She didn't need him to save her. No - that was her job.

_But a call to the police would be really helpful now._

The thin winter night's air pierced her lungs with every breath. She was certain that another ten minutes like this, and her bare fingers - tied so firmly behind her back - would show first signs of frostbite. Her hair dangled beside her face in messy, upturned locks.

She scoffed. The knots around her wrists and the annoying cold weren't even the real problem.

The sidewalk she was facing, twenty stories down - _that_ was the problem.

Her body tensed as the ropes on her feet dropped another yard, dipping her head-first towards the concrete.

_Logan - please, come back._

She could feel her chest tightening, lungs giving up. Her muscles ached from the struggle; the scratch on her face was still bleeding, its trail slowly dripping down her cheek and threatening to dip into her eye. She'd never been a fan of heights - especially not upside down.

The rope dropped again. Her head spun.

"Liam, I said I didn't know!" She shouted, praying the heavens had assigned them at _least_ one set of busybody neighbors. "Pull me up! I'll help you find it!"

"I ain't lettin' go of such a treasure, now, am I?" He snarled, voice echoing down from the balcony.

The bile in her throat was only half-caused by her inverted position.

"Where is it?" Liam barked.

_Please, neighbors, please._

She'd put up as good of a fight as she could. The gun, the kicks, the bites, the punches - she'd put to use every martial skill in her arsenal.

_But it wasn't enough._

She blinked rapidly, tears and blood dripping together. Liam was a methhead - with a dozen inches and over a hundred pounds over her. Once he'd punch the gun out of her hand - what could she really have done?

"Where is it!" Liam was shouting again. He dipped her another two feet.

_Logan, now, please._

She inhaled, lips freezing. Her jeans barely kept out the cold. Her T-shirt, liked it or not, was bunched up against her chest, offering a very exposed midriff to the winter elements. The grey sidewalk - hundreds of feet away - looked liked the world's least comfortable way to die.

"Where is it!"

"I don't know!" She screamed. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Liar!"

Another yard - she was fast losing her ability to breathe properly.

"Where is the painting!" Liam bellowed.

_I'd tell you if I knew._

"I _don't know_!" She punctuated every word, lungs freezing and bursting.

"The money! Where did you get the money? _Where is it!"_ Liam responded in kind.

"It's not your money!"

"Sierra - " Liam paused, probably correcting himself. "The painting - where is it?"

"Not here!"

He let loose another five feet of rope. The increasingly wide arc she's swinging would displace anyone less than a seasoned agent.

_And the FBI called me incompetent._

"Where!"

"For the last time, Liam - _I_ _don't know!_ "

"Well, too bad." The pause between his next words led up to the most menacing sentence she'd ever heard. "Then say hello to concrete, missie."

* * *

"And where are you exactly?" the male voice, deep and groggy, asked over the line.

"The condo's on the twenty-second floor - sir." Logan knew whom he was talking to, of course, but this was just a rather _intense_ moment to make a new friend. "Thank you for your willingness, sir."

"Anything for Veronica."

_Amen to that._

He ran on, urgently weaving through the trees and streets. The local police may have Danny under control, but Liam -

_Ugh, Liam._

He'd called Clark, of course, that was just protocol. But even if Clark didn't have dubious loyalty - he _definitely_ had dubious competence. So, in other words, he needed back-up.

"Look, uhm, Logan, right?" The voice started again in his ear.

"Yes, sir?" He was now braced against the front doors, planning an entrance that didn't involve Sierra informing Liam.

"I'm on my way. Stay until I get there. I'll meet you in the lobby."

"But, sir - "

"No. If Liam Fitzpatrick is anywhere near as dangerous as I've heard from Veronica, then you cannot tackle him alone."

"Sir, Veronica - "

"Will be safe soon, alright? Just wait, son. I'll be there in five."

Logan panted, anxious, in the dark. The man was older, wiser - but he wasn't engaged to Veronica Mars. Should he wait?

"Logan?"

"Yes, sir. I'll - wait - Lieutenant."

"Good - and Stanley will do."

* * *

"I don't know!" She felt embarrassed for screaming at all - but desperate times, desperate measures.

"Liar!"

"No!" She tried to kick her way into someone else's balcony, as Liam lowered her incrementally. The gesture had her swinging in a much more forceful, dizzying motion, with little accuracy.

"We saw the money - you sold the painting. Where is it!"

_Wow, full sentences from Liam._

She saved the eye roll before shouting back at the top of her lungs, desperate to wake her neighbors, "If I knew it, then I'd already be tell - "

She trailed off at something at the corner of her eye. She rotated herself as far as she could, eyes fixed on the block corner. The car looked - familiar, comfortingly familiar.

Chilled and imbalanced, her brain clogged up. It was getting harder and harder to think. That car, it belonged - it belonged -

_Oh._

"For the _last time_ , where is the money!" Liam barked from the top.

_This is it - window of salvation._

She scoffed loudly. "Fine! Let me up and I'll tell you."

* * *

"Here. This is it." The door to their unit, a sight of comfort these past months, now felt like a portal to hell. He didn't realize he was huffing until Stanley's hand found his shoulder. He turned a little. "Sir."

"Remember - don't give yourself away. Liam may be armed."

Logan nodded between pants.

"You know what to do." The man, Veronica's surrogate father figure, had a calming, upright presence about him. Who said senior officers in government always had to be shady?

"Yes, sir."

The older man smiled, soft wrinkles and brown-stubbled skin. "I'm not your commanding officer, Logan."

"Sorry, sir." The words came naturally. Despite the civilian clothes, Stanley was - well, commanding.

"Alright, now open that door."

The embarrassment that crept on Logan's face was only half of what he felt. He fidgeted, hands tugging his shirt. "I - I don't have the keys, sir."

"Not to your own house?"

"We - we had a fight." It pained him to admit it. "I was out because I was angry. I - I shouldn't have. It was silly and childish and - "

Logan stopped, breath heavy. Stanley looked on.

It took only a few seconds before he continued. "I'll never forgive myself, sir, if anything happened to her while I was away."

Stanley's hand gripped Logan's shoulder again. "Well, let's get this done and make sure you get the chance to say sorry."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

The door, masterfully kicked, slammed hard against the wall. Logan curled instantly down into a crouch. Stanley, gun braced for action, stepped inside.

"Liam Fitzpatrick." The kind, fatherly tones had been completely replaced by aggressive force. "I need to have a word."

Hidden behind the corner in the foyer, Logan had only his ears to rely on. There were footsteps, sneers, and a high-pitched cry.

_Please, Veronica - hang on._

He didn't know what Liam had done with her - but hearing her alive had at least been step one in assurance.

_Now on to step two._

"Who are you? The sheriff 'round here?" Liam's sneer never changed. "Lookie here - I got your little angel wrapped around my apron strings. You better put that gun away, sir."

When Stanley didn't reply, Logan couldn't resist a peek. Stanley was still standing, still toting that gun. Liam, on the other hand, was stationed by the balcony. Around his waist, layers of ropes wrapped him like a child cheating at tug-of-war. The other end of the rope was pulled taut against the balcony railing. Logan inhaled.

"Pull her up and we'll talk," Stanley spoke firmly.

"No can do," Liam growled before switching to a maniacal grin. "She's my lifeline now, isn't she?"

"Whatever you want, we can talk it through," the lieutenant went on, "but let's get her back in here first."

"No," defied Liam.

"Yes," argued Stanley.

A small part of Logan felt proud - knowing that this was the new father to Veronica after Keith passed away. She always did choose wisely.

"What are you after?" Back in his hiding place, Logan could hear Stanley switching gears. "I'm sure we can help you."

"This little _bitch_ has a family treasure - an heirloom, sort of. She was about to tell me where she'd been hiding it when you and all your muscle barged in."

Heirloom? A sickening spiral of guilt started in Logan's gut at the realization that all this time, it's been _her_ they're after. _He_ was supposed to be the one protecting _her._

"Maybe this muscle can help, Liam," Stanley was still brokering. "My name is Stan. Let me help."

"You never!" Liam scowled back, unleashing a large segment of rope in the process. A scream echoed from beyond the balcony.

_Veronica!_

It took every last bit of restraint in him to stay put. He eyed Stanley. The officer eyed him back.

The unspoken agreement passed between him. Stanley started nodding, and Logan started counting.

_One - two - three!_

Stanley barreled forward the same moment Logan sprinted for the balcony. Liam, as expected, let go of the ropes once all 6'2" of the FBI officer dove towards him. The two older men tumbled into a wrestle just when Logan hit the balcony floor.

The rope was dropping, fast. The coils Liam had just released on to the ground unraveled like fast-selling merchandise, disappearing one after the other. Lunging forward, Logan grabbed the rope at its highest point before the railing, tugging with all his might. Then slowly, far too slowly, the loose feeling gave way to a tight, taut grip.

He panted, hands sweaty. Bracing his feet where balcony wall met balcony floor, he pulled at the rope with all his might. It inched upward.

In the background, he could hear brute strength battling skilled training. Stanley was as good as they came.

Focusing his strength, Logan pulled on - and on. He hadn't heard anything since Liam let go of the rope, and he was in all honesty extremely nervous about what he'd find at the end of this pulley action.

But turned out, he didn't have to reach the end.

"Oomph!"

"Veronica!" He picked her up, taken aback by the sudden tumble she'd taken into safe boundaries.

She looked positively freezing - but otherwise completely fine. He stripped off his jacket immediately, wrapping it around her. His hands found her wrists, checking for scars.

"I untangled those," she explained, panting.

He looked up, a million emotions - relief, guilt, admiration, pain, love, passion - swirled through his veins. His own voice sounded small. "Where else?"

She pointed to her feet, the ropes still tied firmly around her ankles.

"You have any idea how hard that flip was?" Her voice was gaining its natural lilt. The adrenaline had taken away all the angst and replaced it with triumph. "Not to mention climbing up on only upper-body strength."

Behind him, he could hear Liam protesting with loud, angry groans. Stanley had it completely under control.

"I have no idea." It was all he could say before he pulled her into his arms, crushed against his torso.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH thanks to irma66 for being such a dedicated friend and beta. And everyone's reviews and messages are so kind! Thank you! You've inspired me to finish this story a lot sooner than I otherwise would have :) Oh, if you watch 'Scorpion,' then Cabe Gallo is my dream Lieutenant Stanley :) I hope you liked this chapter! It was quite a challenge to write.


	12. Vanessa Echolls

"Veronica Mars."

She looked up from her spot on the couch. Beside her, Logan had a wrist in his hands, carefully applying medication. All around them, scattered forensic folks gathered 'evidence' from the crime scene.

"Sir." She smiled, a little relieved to have proven herself in front of someone who mattered.

Stanley stood, hands in pocket, debonair despite being close to sixty. He pretended to stretch. "Your attacker was no joke, kid. I think I pulled a hamstring there."

"Good thing my godfather's made of steel then." The ease of this conversation, bruises and cuts and all, didn't make sense - yet still, it felt like the most familial thing in the world.

Stanley smiled, benevolently hovering over the touching lovers. It wasn't exactly protocol to choose your own godparents - but since when had she cared? "You got a keeper there, girl."

The small smile she already had on her lips widened into something deeper, much more joyous.

"He cracked the accomplice's back, informed Clark, and called me. He also 'fessed up about being a total jerk to you," Stanley went on, casual and poignant. Then he switched to a stage whisper. "Make sure he apologizes."

Veronica laughed, and Logan gripped her fingers gently. She looked at him. "You wanna apologize?"

"For the rest of my life."

Usually, she hated big romantic speeches like that. But hey - they'd grown on her. She squeezed his hand back.

_Now or never._

She breathed in. "Hey, Lo - there's something I gotta tell you."

"Agent Mars," Clark, fidgety and tense, interrupted their little triangle. They all look at the stocky marshal. "WITSEC would like to congratulate you and Mr. Echolls on finding and subduing the threat to him."

The entire thing felt like a nonsensical farce. She wanted to roll her eyes so badly. At least Logan _did_ notice Stanley's number programmed into his phone - _that_ was a good stroke of foresight and luck.

"We are fairly certain that evidence of assault and attempted murder will keep Mr. Fitzpatrick, Mr. Boyd, and Ms. Sierra put away doubly longer - at maximum security," Clark added, self-important.

She smiled a tired smile. "Thank you, Clark."

"Of course."

The lull in conversation had the marshal excusing himself - before he turned at the last minute. "By the way, Agent Mars, with the Fitzpatrick threat eliminated, your request should be easy to process."

A strange surge of hope _caught_ in her chest.

"We shall restore your identities within the week. Thank you."

Clark paraded himself away - his absence a welcome fact. The universe itself felt wide open - restored at last. She gripped Logan's hands tighter, speaking through touch. He squeezed back.

_He knows._

She turned to face him, eyes teary. His eyes glistened too.

_He knows - he understands._

"Seems like Veronica's going down as one of the most accomplished WITSEC shadowers." Lieutenant Stanley, leaning his torso back and forth, beamed proudly.

They broke their shared gaze to look at him.

"Protecting your man _and_ catching the bad guy." Stanley smiled. "Told you you're the best candidate."

She could feel Logan kissing her hand. She laughed. "Guess I'll have to agree."

"I'll leave you to it. It's nice seeing you again, Veronica."

"Thanks, Stanley," Logan spoke before she could. "It's an honor working with you."

"No problem." Stanley bowed a little, old-fashioned man that he was. "I'll see you guys around?"

"Absolutely," they both said together.

Stanley promptly winked and backed away.

It took only a few seconds to muster the courage. She turned around fully and planted her hands around Logan's neck. "So - knight in shining armor, could we get married tomorrow?"

* * *

**_-Five years later-_ **

* * *

"Mm, Bolognese?"

He heard her voice before he saw her peeking in at the serving window, forehead obscured by the three early dinner tickets.

He smiled - very widely. "Can't help it if it's the bestseller."

"Sexiest scent _ever_." She smiled, still leaning down to make her face fit between the stainless steel panels.

"I should start a line of cologne some time." He winked.

"I'd lick it right off you."

"Ugh, get a room, you two!" Ned, Norman's brother and the latest addition to their kitchen, was scowling to his right - in all his teenage glory.

Logan spared the kid a glance before smiling even wider.

"I'll see you at the back," he hollered to Veronica. She nodded before promptly disappearing.

"About time," his sous chefs muttered behind him just as he slides the steel door open. He was still smiling, seemed like he always was these days, because he knew they were kidding.

_Wouldn't mind it if they weren't, though._

There was something refreshing about being the one in the healthy relationship, for once.

"Hey, sexy." Veronica walked up to him in the hallway, greeting him with a long, lingering kiss.

"Mm," he hummed back before they parted. "I take it work went well?"

"Yeah." She smiled, landing back on her soles. "Clark still doesn't like it that I'm his boss - but hey, I'm the one who caught the bad guy."

"Right - you." He knew his eyes twinkled. This was a very old, very familiar conversation.

"Hm, would you have known to get Stanley's number? No. Would you have known I was dangling off the balcony without my banshee wail? No. Did you actually help me get up the bal - "

"Alright, alright, we get the picture." His hand flew over her mouth playfully, obscuring half her face. Her eyes smiled at him. "You're my hero, okay?"

The bright smile on her lips matched her eyes once he let go. She grabbed both his hands. "Hey, if it's any comfort - I reread them last week, and the official records say 'Echolls' caught the gang."

He frowned, a little confused.

"They didn't really file it until a week after the attack." She let go of his right hand to lift her left, back of her hand facing him. "And guess who added a ring here during that week?"

He tried to fight the smile - very much - but it was simply too wide and genuine to hide.

"Thanks." It was the only word he could muster.

She beamed back, not displeased.

"So." She drew close, hands wrapping around his waist. "How's the survival diary of the working dad?"

He laughed a little. "She's in school all day now - so not exactly hard."

"Right. And where is she now?"

"Hm - I'm pretty sure the knife rack made a pretty good crib - ouch!" He jumped at her very precise pinching on his back.

_Man, I love her._

"Where's my daughter?"

"Our daughter." He smiled, untangling them so he could hold her hand. He walked them towards the back room. "She's napping. Missed her mom, I think."

"Should I have stayed home?" The sadness in her voice took him by surprise.

"What? No - of course not. I mean - you already did." He smiled empathetically, squeezing her hand. "It takes guts for an agent to stay home till her child went to school."

"I guess." She still looked skeptical as they threaded into the private room they'd built into this place two years ago. It helped to be the owner. Her free hand flew over her belly. "I'd still have to go on maternity leave for this one, though."

"Que sera sera." He smiled, sitting down on the bed next to Vanessa. Her brown curls and blue eyes - she'd blown them away from the day of her birth. One child growing up normal had been enough to convince Veronica to at least consider having another one. "Besides - another girl could keep Vanessa company."

"And what if it were a boy?" His wife wasn't looking at him, eyes trained instead on their sleeping angel.

"Well, in that case," he spoke blithely, a happy man, "then I think 'Luke' would make a pretty good name."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, huge thank you to irma66 for sticking with this story's highs and lows. She's done great stuff for our fandom. And a big hug to everyone reading this! I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know your thoughts! Signing off, Iris :)


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